City of the Unknown
by Rowen-Bells
Summary: Jace always knew how to handle things. He always knew where his life was headed and how to react in any situation. That is, until he meets Clary Fray in Pandemonium. He shouldn't have met her, cause she shouldn't have been able to see him. But now that she has, he feels compelled to learn more about her. *MI:COB in Jace's POV*
1. Nothing Is As It Seems

**_A/N: _**_First and foremost, I do not own any part of Mortal Instruments, and I have no rights or profit to them. They belong only and completely to the amazingly talented Cassandra Clare. I wasn't sure I was ready for another series when I opened City of Bones. I read all five in a span of 6 days. I then read the Infernal Devices in less than a week. I was hooked. I have read them a few times now. But I always wondered what was going through Jace's mind upon first meeting Clary. And while I know that Cassandra does go into the different perspectives of her amazingly lovable characters, I still found myself imagining their first meeting in Jace's POV. That is how this ended up being written. You will find that this is the first chapter of City of Bones, but it is not. This is not meant as any kind of copyright infringement, but as only the most sincerest form of flattery. It takes an amazing writer and an amazing mind to create characters that others fall in love with and want to use. _

_Please, if you enjoy it, let me know! _

* * *

**~Chapter One~**

**Nothing Is As It Seems**

The music beat down on him in a way that annoyed him for some reason, and the swirling, swaying, and strobing multi-colored lights did nothing to improve his mood. Or maybe, perhaps, it wasn't the music, but the ridiculous mundanes who had no idea that they danced with downworlders. It wasn't their fault, he supposed. They couldn't all have the sight. And he really had nothing against downworlders, for the most part. In fact he knew a few quite intimately. It was just that here in a place like Pandemonium it seemed almost as if it were a fresh meat market and mundies were the special.

A slight movement caught the corner of his eye but he didn't turn, nor did he say anything to the boy who suddenly stood next to him. He had felt his approach. He always would for he was his parabatai. Jace remembered when he and Alec had decided to join as one, as their fathers had before them, and remembered how odd but determined he had been to tie himself to someone after so many years in solitude. Hell, even now . . . after the time spent with the Lightwoods; Isabelle, Alec, and Max, it still sometimes seemed strange to him, going from only child to adopted sibling.

He continued scanning the crowd, feeling unswayed by the music . . . though a part of him knew that he should be as it had just the slightest trace of a faerie tune hidden in its background. Next to him, Alec made a noise that sounded as if it could have been a snort of disgust or a sneeze. He decided it was probably the first, and did not say 'God bless you'. Bored but alert, Jace's eyes fell slowly on a couple who were dancing horribly. Whereas others flowed together in sinuous and graceful movements, the boy in his jeans and black shirt looked as if he were convulsing. Even from here, Jace could see that the boy's glasses were askew. He shook his head, unsure of whether to feel pity for the pretty mundane girl who was at least keeping with the rhythm of the music. She too wore jeans, and a blue tank top. How curious. Even if it hadn't been for their horrendous dancing, they still would have stood out like sore thumbs to the rest of the crowd and their skimpy outfits. Even Jace's black Shadowhunter gear was more appropriately fitting for this setting. The girl's red curls bounced around her face, and it was obvious that whatever it was that the boy was saying to her, it was not enough to capture her attention. In fact, he wasn't sure what it was that had, but for the most fleeting of moments, she almost seemed crestfallen. Following what he believed was her line of sight. . .

"Izzy." Jace whispered as he caught sight of her, the red haired girl forgotten. She was smiling and coaxing a blue haired demon in a red jacket and black jeans to follow her. The white dress she wore really had done well to cover her marks, and her ruby necklace was pulsing under the lights. Jace knew it would be pulsing against her skin as well—it was a demon sensor. Next to him, Alec stiffened as his eyes fell upon his sister. Without another word, the two of them set off together, silently thanking the angel for glamours.

While invisible to everyone else though, he still made sure to move carefully but swiftly through the throng of sweaty dancers. They were pacing Isabelle and the demon now, making sure to remain out of sight. Glamours didn't work on demons. He looked at the back of Izzy's dress, and cursed silently under his breath. He had thought her plan to dress as a mundane in order to hide her marks and lure a demon had been a stupid one, besides . . . mundanes didn't wear dresses that covered their skin in this day and age. And now that it was obvious that it had worked . . . he was already dreading the amount of gloating he would have to endure from her later. Up ahead, Isabelle and the demon had already disappeared into a utility room that stated _No Admittance_ on the door. Alec and Jace stopped just outside it.

Pulling a seraph blade from his belt, he ran his thumb along it lightly. "Nephi," he whispered and then watched as it flared to life. He smiled at Alec, who was frowning in return.

"Think you can try to be careful this time? You _do_ remember what happened last week—" Alec began.

Jace did his best to look affronted. "You want to bring that up now? That was a little different. How was I to know that the demon was going to grow into a six foot naked woman with four breasts?"

"Didn't stop you from standing there and staring like a moron." Alec quipped though his lips curved upwards lightly as he said it.

"Did you not hear the part about four breasts? And I did kill it." And then he added. "Eventually."

"Yep." Alec reached over to open the door, allowing Jace to enter first. "And you spent three days in the infirmary due to the poison."

Jace smiled wide now. "Completely worth it." and slipped inside with Alec on his heels. He could almost hear him shaking his head.

Jace heard them talking ahead, and took care to maneuver the electric cables that ran along the ground silently so as to not be discovered. He wrinkled his nose slightly as the sharp scent of old and new paint hit his nose. The moment Izzy came into view, he immediately put up a hand to stop Alec and pull him back against the wall and out of the way of the demon that was staggering backward. Obviously preoccupied, the demon failed to notice the two new additions to the room. A slight smirk lit Jace's face as he and Alec watched in silence as Isabelle used her electrum whip with the grace of a feline to bring the demon down on his back. Izzy laughed now, and Jace was forced to bite down on his own laughter in response. From his peripheral he saw that Alec was looking up at the ceiling, his mouth a grim thin line. Well, if there was one thing Jace definitely appreciated more about Izzy than his parabatai, it was that like him, she enjoyed what she did to the point of giddiness. It was then that Isabelle made eye contact with him, her lips turning up into a seductively wicked grin.

"He's all your's, boys." she practically sang, and Jace couldn't help but to laugh out loud now as Alec instantly flew forward and, taking ahold of the demon, threw him against a nearby concrete pillar. The demon hissed, but Jace merely smiled to himself as he used the moment of distraction Alec had made to slip over and around the pillar unseen. Before the blue-haired monster could collect himself, Jace captured his arms quickly around the pillars, binding them using silver wire. The demon tensed in surprise, but that was all he had time to do. Alec crossed his arms, a smug smile now playing on his lips, as he watched Jace come around to meet them. The demon's eyes were darting quickly between Alec and Isabelle. He was no doubt noticing the similarities between brother and sister. But it was Jace who would demand his attention.

"So." Jace smiled pleasantly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Are there anymore with you?"

The demon's eyes flashed dangerously at his words, his body rippling with anger. Isabelle suppressed a snicker. Standing as straight as he could, the demon met Jace's eyes. "Any other what?" his voice was calm. If anyone had come in, it may have seemed like old friends were in there catching up. This amused Jace.

"Come on now," Jace put up his hands as if to stop the demon from saying another word, and in doing so, his sleeves fell down to his elbow showing the runes that he had marked on his arm; some permanent and others that would fade. Another giggle escaped Izzy's lips. "You know what I am."

The demon, glaring at Jace's arms with absolute distaste, couldn't keep the anger out of his voice now as he hissed the word. "_Shadowhunter_."

At that, Jace grinned. "Got you."

"Think so?" The demon smiled.

At the same time that Jace saw the demon bring his leg up in what would have been a blindingly swift kick, Alec had already sped forward blocking it. Jace sighed overly loud with mock exasperation as he watched Isabelle and Alec bind the demons ankles together, Alec muttering murderously about just killing the thing already. When they moved away, Jace had put on his best distressed expression.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well!" He cried, clutching his chest in mock devastation. "It's the whole 'Shadowhunter' thing isn't it? I knew it! Every time I want to make a demon best friend . . . that damned "sworn to kill them" thing _always_ gets in the way!"

"Or maybe you're just an asshole," the demon spit, while still looking wearily at Alec. He too had heard Alec's early statement.

At this, Isabelle laughed. With a conceding grin and shoulder shrug, Jace tucked his hands back in his pockets and stepped closer to the blue haired demon. Whether he had meant to do it or not, Jace caught the look of fear that clouded the monsters face at his approach. It would be all too easy to kill him, he thought. To drive his seraph blade full hilt into his body and then watch as he disappeared back to his own dimension. He was pacing now. Crossing his arms across his chest, he tucked away his immediate urge to kill the demon. "So…" he began instead. "You still haven't told me if there are any other of your kind with you."

Jace watched as again the demons eyes flashed with both anger and pain as he was no doubt trying to get his hand free. A smug satisfaction set over Jace, knowing that the wires were knotted to get tighter with resistance.

Seeming to give up for the moment on his bid for freedom, the demon glared at Jace. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Alec sighed irritably. "He means other demons. You do know what a demon is, don't you?"

As if suddenly distracted, the demon looked away from Alec. And it was obvious that he was attempting to think up something to say that he thought the shadowhunters would be satisfied with without saying anything of importance, but Jace wasn't about to give him that chance. He stopped pacing and looked at the demon as if he were a child at school. A really stupid child.

"Demons," he said slowly, drawling out each syllable. And then for good measure used his finger to write the word in the air as if it were a piece of chalk and the space between them the chalkboard. "Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension—"

"That's enough, Jace," Isabelle cut him off with a roll of her dark eyes. This hardly surprised him. She hated Hodge droning on about this stuff during lessons, so he hardly figured she would want to hear it here, away from the Institute.

"Isabelle's right," Alec agreed, and this did surprise Jace. He had always known Alec to enjoy the lesson's. Before he could so much a lift a brow however, Alec went on. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics—or demonology."

Lifting his head challengingly, he smiled at the two people he loved like family. Who _were_ his family. And he fought the urge to flip them both off. Turning back to the demon, his grin did not waver. "Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much." He leaned in, his voice a whisper now. "Do _you_ think I talk too much?" And with lightning speed, he flashed the seraph blade that rested on his belt at the demon, He doubted that even Alec or Isabelle had seen what he had done. But he knew by the widened eyes and his sudden stillness, the demon had.

"I could give you information," the demon said suddenly, his eyes glancing to the spot on Jace where he knew the blade was hidden. "I know where Valentine is."

Isabelle rolled her eyes again as Jace glanced back at Alec, a brow raised. It was a simple look, but he knew that Alec would know its meaning: _Give him hope and let him talk? or kill him now_. In return, Alec shrugged. _Your call. _And really, Jace knew it was more like; _You're going to do what you want anyway, so why bother even asking? _But "_your call_" was much easier to say.

"Valentine's in the ground." Jace said finally. "The thing's just toying with us."

"Kill it, Jace." Isabelle tossed her ebony hair back and looked down at the demon with disgust. "It's not going to tell us anything."

Jace knew she was right. With a slight nod, he turned back toward the demon as he unsheathed his blade and raised it above his head.

"Valentine is back!" the thing gasped in fear as it pulled desperately on the wires that bit further and further into his skin as if his life depended on it. His life _did_ depend on it. "All the Infernal Worlds know it—" he continued. "—I know it—I can tell you where he is—"

This was getting ridiculous! Jace couldn't hide, nor did he want to, the immense irritation and anger he felt now. "By the Angel, every time we capture one of you bastards, you claim you know where Valentine is. Well we know where he is too. He's in hell. And you—" Jace had his blade lifted once more, as a deadly calm enveloped him. "You can _join him there."_

"Stop!"

_What the—?! _Jace spun toward the voice in shock, barely registering the seraph blade flying from his hand, or the loud clanging sound it made as it struck the concrete.

"You can't do this!"

It was the girl. The red headed _mundane_ girl he had watched earlier. And . . . she was_ looking right at him _as she rushed forward_._ This couldn't be happening could it? No. Certainly not! He was glamoured against mundies. There was no way! And yet . . . there she was, still looking at him with both fear and something else . . . determination? Yes, it most certainly was determination. His mind was spinning with about a hundred different scenarios on which to handle this . . . but there were none, because he didn't think anything like this had ever happened! In the end, he just stared. Up close, he could see the green of her eyes and the fullness of her lips. She was very pretty . . . for a mundie. He frowned. Somewhere in the back of his head, Jace heard a small voice. _Say something, stupid. Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open._ But it was Alec who finally spoke first.

"What's this?" his parabatai demanded. At that moment something clicked inside Jace, as he looked at the shellshocked faces of those around him. Even the demon could not hide his surprise. A mundane girl had caught them all off guard. Them! Three shadowhunters and a demon. He then silently cursed Alec's blatant question, proving that she had indeed snuck up on them. Jace took a steadying breath, smoothing his features.

"It's a girl. Surely you've seen girls before, Alec. Your sister is one." He could her the sharp intake of breath from both Isabelle and Alec, though they both had different meanings. Regardless, he did not look at either of them. It was this strange creature before him now that demanded his attention. She was short. _Really_ short. He took a step toward her, his eyes narrowing as he raked her arms, desperate to prove that maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was more than what she seemed. But in the end— "A mundie girl," he whispered. "And she can see us."

"Of course I can see you," the mundie girl retorted. "I'm not blind, you know."

This amused Jace more than it probably should have. The fierce tension in her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw, her green eyes an emerald fire. _Snap out of it!_ He could almost feel the blush wanting to rush up his cheeks. Noticing his blade on the ground, he used the time it took to pick it up to compose his features, saying as he went. "Oh, but you are." Sure that he was better, he straightened up and looked at the unsettling girl that had dealt a blow to his ego by sneaking up on him. At that thought, he was able to meet her eyes. "You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you."

"Im not going anywhere," she said with a stubbornness that nearly caused Jace to laugh. "If I do, you'll kill him." At that she pointed at the blue haired demon that still stood bound behind him.

Jace chewed on the inside of his cheek and he could feel the glaring stares that bore into the back of his head from his companions. But he couldn't help but to be intrigued by this mundie girl who somehow possessed the sight. Intrigued and unsettled. "That's true," he found himself admitting as he twirled the blade between his fingers. "What do you care if I kill him or not?"

This, he was truly curious about. If she could see them then she had to know what it was that they held bound. And yet . . .

"Be-because you cant just go around killing people." she stammered as if surprised he didn't know this already.

People? _People?!_ It took effort to keep his face from looking shocked at her choice of description for the demon. Unless . . . could she really not know? This was absurd.

"You're right," Jace said, looking back at the demon. "You can't go around killing _people_. That's—" he pointed at the demon. "—not a person, little girl." He's not sure why he called her that in that moment, but he saw her instantly brittle at his words, her emerald fires igniting once again. He couldn't explain what it was about her, but he found he rather liked her anger. "It may look like a person," he continued. "and talk like a person, and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's a monster."

"_Jace_." Isabelle's tone was one of warning. "That's enough."

But it didn't matter, the girl was already shaking her head an backing away from him. "You're crazy." Her eyes, wide and fearful now glanced to his companions, and then to the demon with . . . _are you kidding me? _Jace thought irritably. Was that compassion in her eyes?! At that moment she met his gaze again. "I've called the police, you know. They'll be here any second."

"She's lying," Alec said immediately, but when Jace looked at him he could see the doubt on his face. Alec met his eyes. "Jace, do you—"

Whatever Alec had been about to say, he never got to finish it. The demon had somehow freed himself from his restraints. His cry was loud and piercing, and Jace had just turned to look at him before being knocked to the ground. _Shit. _

As Jace and the demon rolled on the ground, the demon trying to claw at him with his suddenly elongated metallic claws, a small part of him hoped that the infuriating mundie girl was seeing this. See this _person_ that she so wanted to believe it to be, trying to rip his head off with metallic claws. His moment of distraction would cost him, however, as the demon raked his chest. Jace bit down hard as he felt the searing pain and saw the scarlet drops that followed the demons hand as he perched himself on top of him. It was Isabelle who cried out, though. Jace would not give the demon the pleasure of seeing pain on his face, or hearing it from his lips. He could hear the footfalls of his quickly approaching companions at the same time that the demon made to strike again. This time, Jace threw up his arm to block the incoming blow and felt as both fabric and skin were shredded. He kicked upward, momentarily dislodging the demon who instantly lunged again.

He never made it. Shrieking as if struck with immense pain, he fell to the side. Jace would not give him time to recuperate. With blinding swiftness he rolled over, bringing his blade with him as he went and sunk the dagger deep into the the demons chest. The blood that bubbled forward was black. It was always black. The demon screeched and twisted, but Jace was unrelenting. Finally, he stood watching as the thing twitched. Reaching down, he pulled the blade from the creatures chest.

The demons bright green eyes suddenly blazed, locking on Jace's "_So be it._ _The Forsaken will take you all._"

Jace's lip curled in anger as his hand holding the blade twitched with the desire to stab the demon again. But he stayed his blade and watched as the demons eyes rolled and his body began to jerk. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the mundane. Knew she had seen it all. The demon twitched suddenly, and then folded in on himself. Something Jace had seen many times. Soon the demon had vanished altogether. He was aware, as he always was, of his parabatai at his side. Alec was immediately beginning to pull on the sleeve of his shirt, and Jace turned to look curiously at his arm. The claw marks looked worse than they were.

A surprised gasp suddenly caught his attention. Though he made no attempt to move away from the _iratze _that Alec was getting ready to draw, his head did snap to where the mundie girl was. The curiously amusing and frustrating mundie girl. Isabelle had her held in place with her electrum whip around her wrist.

"Stupid little mundie," she hissed at the frightened girl. "You could have gotten Jace killed."

"He's crazy," The girl gasped almost defiantly trying to pull her wrist back. Jace bit down on his cheek to keep from laughing at this. It wouldn't be the first time he had been called crazy. And yet, she had just witnessed a demon killed and still she was refusing to believe what she had seen. "You're all crazy," she continued. "What do you think you are, vigilante killers? The police—"

He would never understand how mundies can see something . . . witness it with their own two eyes . . . and then still deny it to themselves. Pulling away from Alec, he stepped toward her.

"The police usually aren't interested unless you can produce a body." he stated as if this should be obvious to her. He cradled his arm gingerly as he stepped over the cables on the floor—maybe it was worse than he had thought. It stung terribly. But he put that aside as she looked from him to the place where the demon had vanished and back to him again. He felt pity for her. Her brain attempting to comprehend what it had always been told was not true.

But she could see him. All of them!

Some part of her, some how must know about them.

"They return to their home dimensions when they die," he said not unkindly. He could see the dismay in her eyes as they met his. "Just in case you were wondering."

"Jace," he heard Alec hiss behind him. "Be careful."

He chewed on his cheek, keeping his face a blank mask as he turned to look at Isabelle and then Alec. Could they not see what he saw? That she had to be more than just a mundie? "She can see us, Alec. She already knows too much." But how much? She seemed truly shocked finding them there, and to truly believe the demon a human. Could she be acting?

"So what do you want me to do with her?" Isabelle demanded.

No. She wasn't acting. She was something though, and Jace intended to find out what. "Let her go," he whispered, ignoring the shock and angry glare from Isabelle.

He watched quietly as the golden whip released the girl's wrist who in turn rubbed the welted red skin. Jace could not take his eyes off her. She looked ready to run, to fight if she had to. He had to bite back on a smile. She had just witnessed him kill a demon, and yet . . . she looked ready to take on all three of them if she had to in order to get away. She must know, on some level that that would not be in her favor. _Who was this girl?_

"Maybe we should bring her back with us," Alec said slowly and not without irritation. "I bet Hodge would like to talk to her."

There was an idea.

"No way are we bringing her to the Institute," Isabelle snapped. "She's a _mundie."_

A mundie. The girl looked and acted like one. But . . . _she could see them_. She could . . . Jace couldn't explain what it was he was feeling, and it unsettled him. There was that word again. He had thought it before. Whatever this girl was or may seem, he was beginning to think that a mundie was not one of them.

"Or is she?" he said softly, voicing only the last part of his internal debate. He took another step forward, almost expecting the girl to cower back but somehow knowing she wouldn't. How she infuriated him. He always knew how to handle things. Kill demons, train, deal with rogue downworlders, train, bug Alec and Isabelle, train. But this—this was different. "Have you had dealings with demons, little girl?" And he smiled inwardly as her eyes blazed with their emerald fires once again at his words. He continued on pretending not to notice, "Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you—"

"My name is not 'little girl,'" she cut him off irritably, and Jace had a difficult time hiding his smile at her anger this time. "And I have no idea what you're talking about—" But even as she said it, her eyes grew wide and her full lips into a thin line. _Bingo,_ Jace thought. But she shook her head lightly as if ridding herself of an unpleasant memory and continued on, "I don't believe in—in demons, or whatever you—"

"Clary?"

Jace, Isabelle, and Alec all froze like statues at the sound of the new voice. They were all still glamoured, but with the girl being able to see them, he was beginning to think anything was possible. And then he realized it was the convulsing dancer that she had been with earlier. His worried eyes on the girl only. Jace frowned as a sharp gnawing tightened his stomach. It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, but it happened again when he looked at the boy, who in turn was looking at the girl with a tenderness now. Behind him, stood a large bouncer; the one that had been stamping hands earlier. The same one that Jace had made let them in on official shadowhunter business. A werewolf. The bouncer's eyes flashed to each of their faces, and Jace shook his head with a quick jerk. Understanding, the bouncer then rested his gaze on the girl.

"Are you okay?" The stupid boy asked her. Jace bit his cheek. He knew that was unfair. He didn't know this boy . . . nor did he care to. "Why are you in here by yourself?" the stu—the boy continued. "What happened to the guys—you know, the ones with knives?"

Isabelle and Alec both inhaled sharply, and Jace had to choke back on his surprise. Would this girl—Clary, she had been called—ever stop surprising him? The mundane boy—for there was no denying that this boy was definitely a mundane—knew why she was in here? No, he could tell from the look on his face that he had been just as surprised to find her in here as they had initially been. But the truth behind his words were there. She had seen them, him and Alec at least, before they had entered the utility room with their weapons. And she had decided to follow.

Clary suddenly looked back to him, taking in his bloody shirt and the blade in his hand. Her eyes narrowed and he felt almost bad for her. But she didn't seem surprised. Jace couldn't help it, the grin he had bit back so many times finally broke loose and he shrugged as if to say he was at least sorry that her friend now thought she was crazy. Well maybe only half sorry. But what would she do? Would she insist that they were indeed there? Drag her friend over to stand inches from himself and beg him to see something he never would? Clary sighed and turned back to her friend.

"I thought they went in here," she said lamely, gesturing to Jace who couldn't say how he knew that she had accepted without question that her friend could not see them. "But I guess they didn't. I'm sorry . . . it was a mistake."

Behind them, Isabelle let a small giggle escape and for some reason it annoyed Jace. This girl—Clary—was blatantly lying to her friend because of them. He had to bite back a retort. The werewolf bouncer, seeming to sense that this was a great time to get them all out of his fur, grunted and ushered Clary and her friend out. But not before she had managed to look back over her shoulder, capturing his attention with a gaze that sent shivers running through his body and heat rushing to his cheeks.

As the door shut behind them, Alec gave a low whistle and Isabelle a laugh.

"Well that was . . . different," Alec stated slowly.

"Yeah," Jace said still staring at the door that Clary had disappeared through.

"Guess we should head back to the Institute," Alec again.

"Yeah." That look. That simple but defiant look that she had given him. Jace continued to stare at the door. But she shouldn't have been able to give him a look of any kind at all! She should not have been able to _see_ him!

"You're going to go after her, aren't you?" It was Isabelle this time. Her whispered word tickling his ear. "Or at least try to figure out who she is?"

"Yeah."

And he knew then it was true. Not now, of course. Now they had to return to the Institute and report what had happened to Hodge. But he would find this strangely infuriating and amusing mundane girl with the beautiful red curls and ability to see demons and shadowhunters.


	2. Unexpect the Expected

_**A/N: **__First: I don't own Mortal Instruments. That beautiful world belongs to Cassandra Clare. I just like to play in it. Secondly: I just want to say thank you again to the wonderful reviews, the favorite and the follows I received. It truly made me want to work on the next chapter. That said, I do have to warn that this chapter does have strong language. And Third: I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think :)_

* * *

**~Chapter Two~**

**Unexpect the Expected**

Sitting in the Institute library, Jace leaned back in his chair lifting the front legs off the ground. His hands rested behind his head, his eyes closed as he listened to Isabelle tell Hodge of the night before. She always had had a way with telling stories to make them sound like more than what they were. She never lied, she just . . . embellished. Jace smiled as she reached his own grand entrance into the utility room. The light from the windows glowed warmly down on Jace's shoulders as green eyes flashed behind his lids.

It had been decided after returning late last night that they were all equally exhausted and as Hodge was not expecting any kind of hiccup in their outing, he could hardly be waiting up for them. No need to wake him. As Jace had made his way to his room, he had thought of Clary. Not long after she had been ushered out of the utility room at Pandemonium, they had left as well. What he had not expected was to see her standing outside with her friend—his stomach knotted—who was attempting to hail a cab. She had not seen them come out, and even though Alec had tried to discourage what he knew he was thinking, Jace had set off silently to the sounds of protests behind him. He stuck to the shadows as he inched himself ever closer to her, hoping that she would not look up and see him, and cursing the fact that she could see him to begin with.

Once he was close enough to hear what they were saying, he had crouched down in the shadow of the building to listen.

"It was just a mistake," she had said with exhaustion, and Jace wondered why she was still denying it to the boy. It was obvious that they were friends, but perhaps just not the type that told each other the truth—no matter how strange. But then, Jace had also seen the way this mundane boy had looked at her.

"Well, it was a hell of an embarrassing mistake," the boy said then. He glanced back at the club, his eyes roving over and right past Jace as he did so. Jace snorted. Definitely a mundane. "I doubt they'll ever let us back into Pandemonium."

"What do you care?" Clary sounded exasperated as she took over the attempt to hail a cab now. "You hate Pandemonium."

It wasn't long after she had raised her hand that a taxi screeched to a stop. "Finally we get lucky." the boy said approaching the cab and yanking open the door, sliding in.

As Jace watched Clary get in after the boy, he was overcome with an urge to stop the cab long enough to jerk the boy out of the car and ask him if he had never heard of manners; opening a door for a lady or allowing her to get in first. With a clenched fist, he was able to keep himself from doing so, though the imagined look on the mundanes face _did _amuse him.

"We're going to Brooklyn," the uncivilized twit told the cab driver. "Look," he said in a softer tone, and Jace guessed he was speaking to Clary again. He hated the angle he was at now, as he couldn't see into the taxi. Only the back door that was still hanging open. "You know you can tell me anything right?"

Jace held his breath as it seemed that Clary wasn't going to respond. Would she tell him now? Tell this mundane boy what had really happened? Finally he heard her speak, "Sure, Simon. I know I can."

He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that regardless of her words, her tone suggested differently. It didn't matter though, cause it was then that she had reached out to shut the car door, her slender hand pale in the lamp lights that reflected off the freshly washed city streets, and he could only watch as she sped away.

And now Jace was waiting patiently for Isabelle to finish her exciting tale so that he could corner Hodge. He had already decided that he would track down the girl—Clary, but he would like Hodge to at least be okay with it. It would make things easier.

"Jace?"

Jace opened his eyes, looking up at the man who looked older than his years. Hodge Starkweather had been his tutor since arriving here, and he had learned much from him. His raven, Hugo, sat perched on his shoulder as he often did unless he was hunting or delivering a message. Jace had never understood what it was about the man, but he felt a fondness for him that he never could quite put his finger on. He always chalked it up to the fact that he had learned so much from him, but there were times it seemed to run deeper than that.

"Yes?" he finally said, smiling his best smile.

"So this girl, Clare—"

"Clary." Jace corrected automatically, surprising himself.

"Yes, Clary," Hodge continued as if the interruption had not even occurred. "Do you really think that she could be more than a mundane?"

"She saw us Hodge," Jace said sitting up, the feet of the chair coming down hard with a thud. "And we were glamoured."

"Yes . . ." Hodge moved away, almost distractedly, and pulled a book out from behind his large desk. "Well, it is not completely uncommon—though it is rare—that a mundane possess the Sight. In fact—" he flipped through the pages of the book. "Sophia Lightwood was a mundane who possessed the Sight before she ascended."

At hearing their surname, Alec, who was standing by the windows looked up. Isabelle on the other hand jerked up from the chaise lounge she was lying on. "Another history lesson?" she moaned. "No thanks!" And before anyone could even try to stop her, she had disappeared from the room with the heavy door closing loudly in her wake.

Hodge shook his head with a slight smile, but continued on again as if there had been no interruption. "It also used to be a common practice to employ servants who had the Sight, as Shadowhunters were above such trivial things like making their own food and cleaning. And it wasn't like they were going to talk a Downworlder into being a servant. But of course, this was at least a hundred years ago."

Looking up, Hodge was met with two curious sets of eyes: gold and blue. He merely smiled. Jace, who knew all about ascending and what it entailed, had never actually seen it done before. But then, it also required a cup that as far as he knew had been missing since before he he was born.

"Have you ever met a Nephilim who was an ascended mundane?" Alec asked from the chaise lounge he now occupied.

"No," Hodge smiled. "Not personally. In fact, I am not really all that certain when the last time a mundane had ascended. It was obviously before the Uprising, but I would have to look it up. The Silent Brothers keep extensive records of this information though, and I imagine their library is much more vast than this one."

"So what about Clary?" Jace asked, bringing the focus back to where he felt it should be before they started going on about Silent Brothers and ascending some more. The Silent Brothers made him uneasy, and without the cup there was no point in talking about ascending.

"What about her?" Alec asked with unprovoked irritation that caused Jace to raise his brow. "All I'm saying is that maybe its better that she disappeared."

"How so?" Jace challenged. "She knows about us!" He then turned to Hodge, pleadingly. "Look, let me just find her and bring her here. You can't tell me that you're not curious? If it turns out that she is truly mundane, well . . ."

"Well it doesn't sound as if you made much of an impression on her, Jace," Hodge said, not unkindly. All the same, Jace cursed Isabelle's descriptive story telling. "Perhaps, Isabelle should—"

"No." Jace did not yell the word, but the firmness in his voice was unmistaken. He cast a sideways glance at his parabatai and saw that his brows were raised in an expression of surprise. One he quickly rearranged. Hodge was staring at him with amused consideration, and Jace cursed inwardly. "It's just . . ." _Just what?_ he found himself wondering. _Just that this girl has caused you one sleepless night already and you cant stop thinking about her? Oh, and you have an unexplainable need to be near her again? _Instead he said, "You're right. I didn't make a great impression on her . . . which is why I should be the one to find her. To apologize."

Alec snorted, "Since when do you apologize for anything?"

"Even one as astoundingly amazing as myself can make mistakes," Jace smiled at Alec. "Though, I admit . . . it _is _incredibly rare."

Alec rolled his eyes. Jace continued to smile, though he knew that Alec would never understand. No one would. It was an agonizingly large number—the amount of times he had apologized in his life. He had just never been heard.

"I just think it's a bad idea. That all," he said slowly. "I—I just don't see how anything good can come from bringing this mundane here. But—" he sighed. "We are Parabatai. _Whither thou goest, I will go._"

Jace couldn't help but hear to his unspoken words as well: _But only if you insist as I think you're being an idiot. _All the same, it meant a lot to him that Alec would do this for him. He smiled. "Thank you, brother," he said with sincerity. "But I will not make you join me."

Alec tried, and failed, to hide both the relief and irritation that flashed through his eyes. Nodding at Hodge and then at Jace, he followed his sister's path out of the library without another word.

With just himself and Hodge now, Jace felt that he would have a better chance of getting him to agree with him. Before he could even start his case again, however, Hodge was already holding up a hand to stop him. Jace bit the inside of his cheek, waiting.

"I would be lying if I said I was not curious about this girl," he began. "Unlike Alec, I do not see the harm in bringing her here and asking her a few questions. As I said, it has been a long time since I have heard of a mundane possessing the Sight, and definitely not in my lifetime. But then, maybe I just want to meet the girl who has seemed to light a fire in your eyes that I have never before seen." Jace's mouth dropped open, his face flushing at Hodges words. Hodge merely laughed and continued. "Either way, I will allow you to find her and bring her here, Jace. And not just because we both know that you will do it anyway. But I must warn you . . . be careful. The fact remains that we do not know who she is or what she knows about us. She may present a danger to you—to all of us."

Jace bit back a snort. Her? Dangerous? She would be nothing he couldn't handle. But all the same, relief flooded him at Hodge's agreement to let him go. Relief and trepidation. He would be seeing her again—he just hoped she would give him a chance without running in fear at the sight of him. It was then that he remembered the fierceness in her eyes in that darkly lit utility room, and he smiled. No, she wouldn't run. But he wasn't sure that she wouldn't try to claw his face off either. Getting up, he approached the desk just as Hodge sunk into the the overstuffed chair behind it—Hugo cawing out indignantly and ruffling his feathers as he did so.

"I know she lives in Brooklyn somewhere," Jace began. "Do you have any thoughts on the best way to find her?"

Together with Hodge, they began looking into how to find her.

#####

He waited for a group of people to walk into the coffee shop, slipping in behind them. At once he was overwhelmed with the smell of coffee, the sound of laughter, and the screeching of an annoyingly loud, but admittedly amusing mundane screaming into a microphone. The occupants of Java Jones moved around him with ease, though not a single one of them actually looked at him. He had wondered if he should glamour himself before leaving the Institute, and had decided to do so at the last minute. A good idea, he now realized. Jace looked around slowly, wondering—_hoping_—she would be here. This was his last ditch effort. It had proven more difficult than he had thought it would be to track her down, and had in turn, tracked down her friend. It was how he learned that his bandmate was doing a poetry reading tonight, and he had hoped that she would be there to show support.

It was then that he saw the mundane boy—_Simon_, and his stomach twisted with disdain. There was just something about him that Jace really disliked, though he wasn't sure entirely what it was. All the same, he silently followed the boy's movements and with relief he saw the curls of red hair as the boy sat down next to her. _She was here_. He felt the race of his pulse as he thought that, and he frowned with confusion. How could this girl . . . this mundane girl, cause such a reaction in him? He didn't know her, and yet seeing her—knowing he was in the same room as her—made him feel calmer than he had all day. She was like an infuriating magnet. He hung back, just out of earshot, watching her for some time. Here, without the stress of demons and shadowhunters, she was relaxed. She smiled easily, and at other times seemed far away; lost in her own mind. A few times he saw her brow furrow and he instinctually wanted to find out what plagued her. She was slender, but still feminine.

Jace shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't here to oogle her. He was here to bring her back to the Institute. And yet, while he watched her he couldn't help but feeling like this whole scene was wrong. She shouldn't be sitting there with that boring mundane. It shouldn't be Simon making her laugh like that, or bumping into her jokingly while they drank coffee and listened to horrendous poetry. But then—if Jace was so sure that it shouldn't be Simon here with her, then who would he have take the mundanes place? The answer hit him before he had even finished the question. He sighed inwardly. This whole thing was absurd and he needed to get a grip on himself. Biting the inside of his cheek, he closed his eyes and focused on the blaring speakers.

The angst ridden mundane at the mic had started another poem and . . . _oh good lord! _Had he really just spoken of his 'nefarious loins?' Jace laughed despite himself, shaking his head. Up ahead, he noticed an older couple stand suddenly and make their way to the door. Apparently turgid was their torment as well, and they no longer wished for the agony that the mundane poet was causing them. The small faded green sofa they had been sitting on was now empty, and sat only a couple feet behind Clary. He moved swiftly to sit there before it could be taken by others. Closer now, he could hear their conversation.

"I don't want to ask Jaida Jone's out." Simon was saying, his voice tight.

"Why not?" Clary asked suddenly, her tone a mystery to Jace. Was she irritated? Was this Jaida Jones a friend of hers? Why was he so curious? He shook his head, realizing she had said something else but missed it. Simon was shaking his head now, seeming agitated.

"Neither. I don't want to ask her out because it wouldn't really be fair to her if I did . . ."

At this, Clary leaned in toward her friend. Jace noticed a blonde girl nearby leaning in as well, and before he knew what he was doing, he too had moved forward to listen.

"Why not?" Clary asked.

"Because I like someone else," Simon blurted, looking surprised with himself as he did so.

There was a small pause and Jace looked at Simon with amusement; the hesitation, the nervousness, looking like he might vomit—_Oh that's real attractive, _Jace thought with a roll of his eyes. _I can see why women are just flocking to him. _And yet women weren't flocking to the mundane. Only Clary was there, and that was enough to irritate Jace. Especially since it was immediately clear to him who this "someone else" was that the mundane boy liked. He had known since the foolish mundane had come into the utility room and found Clary there, seemingly alone. Jace had seen the way the boy looked at her.

"Okay," Simon said, and Jace balled his hands into fists. He knew that tone. Knew the mundane was getting ready to lay his feelings on the line, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle her response.

Tensing up, Jace sat back and crossed his arms. This gnawing irrational feeling—the urge to chuck Simon through a window—was confusing to Jace. Never in his life could he remember having felt this way before, and he wasn't sure what it was or what to do about it. All he knew was that he didn't like it. Before he could act on it, however, Clary responded with, "You're not gay, are you?" and Jace had to choke back his sudden laughter at the embarrassment that crossed Simons face.

"If I were, I would dress better," the boy retorted into his coffee.

_You would also be a better dancer,_ Jace thought unkindly.

"So, who is it then?" Clary asked.

And Jace's eyes widened. Was it possible that she really did not know? A small part of him had thought that maybe she had been playing with the boy, trying to draw it out of him so that he spoke his feelings first. He had seen Isabelle do that before, and had known girls who had tried to get him to do the same. But her tone held such honest curiosity, that there was no denying the fact that she truly didn't know that her mundane friend was in love with her. Which also meant that she likely did not return his feelings in that way. He had read once that when two people were truly in love with each other, they usually were able to tell before admitting to it. He suddenly felt giddy with happiness and a laugh escaped his lips. He quickly tried to turn it into a cough, but it was too late. She turned around.

He smiled, still unable to hide his pleasure and amusement. Her green eyes widened at the sight of him, her full lips turning down. Simon, realizing he had lost her attention, turned to see what had possibly captured her attention away from what Jace was sure would have been an amusing declaration of love.

"What is it?" the mundane asked. Jace knew that the boy saw only an empty sofa, and he could tell by the look on Clary's face that she knew it as well.

With a deepening smile, he waved at her. Well it was all or nothing now, he supposed, and without a word he rose to his feet and began to walk slowly to the door. He fought the urge to look back and see if she was following, only hoping that he was right in thinking that she would. Outside the light was fading fast. He took a deep breath and then moved to stand against the wall of the coffee shop, waiting for her. A slow hum vibrated in his pocket and he pulled out the small square silver box—a Sensor. He frowned looking at it, but already it had gone silent. He had just started pressing a few buttons when the sound of the door slamming shut caught him by surprise, his head snapping up.

Either she was really good at sneaking up on Shadowhunters or he was losing his touch. He was inclined to think that neither were true, regardless of whether this was the second time she had managed to catch him off guard. She stared at him with a mixture of curiosity. _Say something to her, _he thought. He shook his head just as the mundie inside started yet another horrific poem about sex.

"Your friend's poetry is terrible," Jace stated truthfully, placing the Sensor in his shirt pocket. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Was she out of breath? She blinked with confusion and Jace smiled at the idea of having caught her off guard for once.

"What?" she asked.

"I said his poetry is terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting words at random." Though if he were to be completely honest, Jace felt that he would always have a soft spot for the turgid, nefarious loins, poet. But he had no intentions of being completely honest. At least not about that.

Clary's eyes flashed with anger. "I don't care about Eric's poetry. I want to know why you're following me."

Jace swallowed, making his face blank. "Who said I was following you?"

"_Nice _try. And you were eavesdropping, too." she growled, much like a ferocious kitten. She really was adorable, wasn't she? Jace merely looked at her with amusement as she continued her rant. "Do you want to tell me what this is about, or should I just call the police?"

_Oh come on, woman, _Jace thought. _Does she not appreciate the work it took just to find her? _Instead, he gave her a withering look and said, "And tell them what? That invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl—" he smiled inwardly as she brittled. "—the police aren't going to arrest someone they can't see."

"I told you before, my name is not 'little girl,'" she said through gritted teeth, her green eyes alight with the fire that Jace had come to know. "It's Clary."

"I know. Pretty name—" he searched her face as he said it. Wondering if she could hear the sincerity behind his forced tone. "—like the herb, clary sage." And then he found himself unexpectedly rambling. "In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said both annoyed, perplexed, and with such honesty that Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from launching into an explanation. She really had no clue.

"You don't know much, do you?" he stated airily, as if it were not so much a question but a fact. And yet he knew it couldn't be entirely true just by the fact that she was standing there talking to him. "You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet you can see me. It's a conundrum."

"What's a mundane?" Jace's lips quirked upward at her tone. She was obviously wondering if she was being insulted or not. He could toy with her, but in the end he told the truth. He always did for the most part. Whether people liked it or not.

"Someone of the human world," he stated. "Someone like you."

"But _you're_ human." It would seem that she was still unsure whether or not he was insulting her.

"I am," he conceded, her words not bothering him in the slightest for she was half correct. "But I'm not like you."

Clary drew her shoulders back, her eyes narrowing. "You think you're better. That's why you were laughing at us."

So she had not been fooled by his attempt to turn his laugh into a cough after all. He looked at her silently; the tension in her shoulders, her hands balled into fists. He decided on the truth again. "I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited. And, because your Simon is one of the most mundane mundanes I've ever encountered." She made a sound as if she were about to protest, but he went on before she could. "And because Hodge thought you might be dangerous, but if you are, you certainly don't know it."

"_I'm _dangerous?" Clary repeated his words with near astonished disbelief. "I saw you kill someone last night. I saw you drive a knife up under his ribs, and—"

Her voice trailed off, though Jace thought she looked as if she had wanted to say more. It was clear, however, that she thought him to be more dangerous than her. Definitely not the "_bring home to mother_" type at least. All the same, she was here and looking at him. Talking to him. A mundane should not have been able to do either. Perhaps she was more of a danger than he gave her credit for.

"I may be a killer," he said matter-of-factly, "but I know what I am. Can you say the same?"

"I'm an ordinary human being, just like you said." But she didn't look as sure now, and she swiftly made to change the subject. "Whose Hodge?"

Something. There was something that Jace couldn't quite put his finger on. He looked down at the permanent rune on his left hand, the eye staring back at him. _Could it be possible?_ "My tutor," he said answering her question first, pushing himself off the wall. "And I wouldn't be so quick to brand myself as ordinary—let me see your right hand."

This had apparently not been what she had expected him to say. She blinked. "My right hand?" And Jace nodded. She stared at him for a moment, biting down on her lower lip. He wondered if she even realized she was doing that. Finally she said, "If I show you my hand, will you leave me alone?"

_Of course not. _"Certainly." He didn't bother to hide his amusement now.

She held her right hand out grudgingly. Jace moved forward, looking down at it. Her hand was slender and fragile looking; feminine and soft. His pulse raced as he took her hand gently in his own, the heat from her palms like the warm sun on his skin. He turned it over, looking but not finding what it was he was searching for. He did not hide his disappointment. He had thought that perhaps . . . but no. She was not Marked. He looked up at her confused face.

"You're not left-handed, are you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, why?"

He had not thought so, but he had had to ask to be sure. Her hand still rested in his, and he was surprised to find that it was relaxed. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for her hand to be in his. His pulse began to race, his stomach turning in knots. He released her quickly, shrugging.

"Must Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands—or left, if they're left-handed like I am—when they're still young." he explained. He could still feel the ghost of her hand imprinted in his. "It's a permanent rune that lends and extra skill with weapons." Lifting his left hand, he turned it so that she could see the rune that was on the back of it.

She only stared.

"I don't see anything." she said finally, her brow raising as if she thought him a lunatic.

He hid his look of surprise, though he found it interesting that she could see him but not the rune on his hand. Jace looked down at the rune that was black against his skin before looking back at her. He remembered when he was a young boy how he would see things—things that seemed to disappear. This was back before he had been marked as a Shadowhunter. Back when he had still lived in Idris. He had tried focusing on what he knew he had seen only moments before, but it had only been when his father had told him to stop straining his eyes, that he had finally seen it. But he had also been destined to become a Shadowhunter; born from a Shadowhunter.

This girl was not.

But even as he thought it, something in the back of his mind nagged at him—refusing to believe that she was mundane. But he was only sixty percent sure that she was possibly like him, granted . . . sixty percent was more than half.

"Let your mind relax," he suggested, repeating the words his father had said to him years ago; wondering if it would work and feeling, at the same time, that he knew it would. "Wait for it to come to you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of water."

"You're crazy," she said confirming his earlier belief that she thought him a lunatic. But even as she said it, he watched as she allowed herself to relax. He held his hand out for her again, and she stared down at it. It wasn't long before she blinked in surprise and looked up at him. "A tattoo?"

So it had worked. The idea that he had taught her how to do something—even something as simple as looking past a glamour—unexpectedly pleased him, and he smiled as he lowered his hand. Seventy-five percent sure then. "I thought you could do it. And its not a tattoo—it's a Mark." At that, he saw Clary's brow crease with confusion, and he went on. "They're runes, burned into our skin."

She met his gaze steadily, and then she shook her head as if annoyed by a fly. Her voice dripped with disbelief as she said, "They make you handle weapons better?"

Jace was unfazed as the disbelief in her tone did not match the belief in her eyes. "Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they've been used."

"That's why your arms aren't all inked up today?" she said, her eyes sliding along his bare arms. "Even when I concentrate?"

"That's exactly why," he smiled, pleased. "I knew you had the Sight, at least." He glanced up at the sky then and saw only very little light remained. For some reason, he did not like the idea of her out at night. Not when he knew what roamed the streets. Also, he knew they had been out here for awhile, and it was only a matter of time before _Simon_ came looking for her. The mundane's name rolled through his mind—sticking in it like disgusting half-chewed gum would stick to the bottom of a shoe. "It's nearly full dark," he stated then. "We should go."

"_We?" _Clary had clearly not expected this, though he felt that she should have. "I thought you were going to leave me alone."

"I lied," he shrugged. "Hodge said I had to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you."

"Why would he want to talk to me?" she countered.

"Because you know the truth now." Hadn't she just been listening to their conversation? He was sure he hadn't been talking to himself. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

"About _us_?_"_ she echoed, and his brow furrowed as he looked at her. Either she was stalling or just very full of questions. Or perhaps she liked repeating him—he _was _a repeatable kind of person after all. "You mean," she went on. "People like you. People who believe in demons."

"People who kill them." Jace also pointed out, using her own words. And then he sighed. "We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

"Downworlders?" She looked exhausted.

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey," Jace ticked off. "The magical folk of this dimension."

Clary was shaking her head now. That look one gets upon realizing that they're talking to a crazy person was back in her green eyes. "Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

While Jace knew she had meant her words to be condescending, he merely smiled unruffled. "Of course there are. Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the _voudun _priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?"

Jace scoffed merrily. "Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies." And Clary, who looked as if she were about to say something else with condescension, but had been caught off guard by his answer, blinked in surprise.

"They don't?"

"Of course not." he said suppressing his laughter. "Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him."

"What if I don't want to see him?" she said stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest.

Jace had thought about this as well—what he would do if she refused to come along with him, and . . . he shrugged. "That's your problem. You can come either willingly or unwillingly."

Clary's eye popped open wide. "Are you threatening to _kidnap_ me?"

He didn't fail to notice as she said it that she neither looked afraid, nor did she move away from him. In fact she looked pissed. Not really a reaction one commonly has when being faced with a possibility of being kidnapped. He also thought it an interesting choice of words, seeing as how she so hated to be referred to as 'little girl'. Jace smiled. "If you want to look at it that way, yes."

What ever she was about to say after that, and Jace was sure it would have been colorful, was halted by a buzzing coming from her pocket.

"Go ahead and answer that if you like," he offered gesturing to the phone in her pocket with a smile. But it had already stopped ringing.

Within seconds, however, it started up again. Whoever was calling her, had obviously not waited for or left a voice message before having hung up and calling her right back. _Persistent, _Jace thought, wondering who it could be that wanted so badly to reach her. He thought of the mundane—but surely he would get up off his ass and actually look for her if he was that concerned? He then thought of how he had gotten in the car before her, and frowned. Maybe not. Clary, taking the phone out and looking at it, frowned before turning away from him and raising it to her ear.

"Mom?"

He sighed inwardly with relief, and leaned back against the wall. Curiously, her shoulders were hard with tension as she silently listened to her mother speaking.

"It's all right, Mom. I'm fine. Im on my way home—"

_Ah_, a concerned mother was something Jace could not fully sympathize with as his own mother had died shortly after his birth. He had come to think of Maryse as a something of a mother though, so perhaps he could at least be empathetic. But before he could think more on it, Clary's terrified shouting tore through him like a knife. Snapping to attention, he turned toward her and found that she was still facing away from him.

"_Who's_ found you?" She cried. "Mom, did you call the police? Did you—" Jace wanted to reach out for her, but stayed his hand. From the angle in which he stood, he could see that her knuckles were turning white as she pressed the phone tightly to her ear. And then she was screaming, turning his blood cold. "_Mom! _Mom are you there?!"

Jace watched as she looked down at the phone, eyes wide.

"Clary," he said gently but urgently, and not unaware that this was the first time in which he had called her by her name. She seemed to realize that too, and for a brief moment she met his gaze—her face white and her eyes wide with terror. "What's going on?" he asked.

In response she shook her head, and turned away from him, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on her phone. Pressing it to her ear once more, she immediately brought it back down. Jace saw that her hands were shaking terribly as she tried punching in the number again, and though the Sensor lay silent in his pocket, he couldn't help but to rest his hand on it. He watched as she pulled the phone away again, and then with horror as it slipped from her trembling fingers and nailed the pavement. Jace rushed forward as Clary went to her knees to retrieve it.

"Dammit!" she cried chucking the cracked phone back down angrily, where it broke apart.

"Stop that." Jace said firmly but not unkindly. Taking ahold of her wrist, he hauled her back up to her feet. Her eyes were wide and he felt a stinging pain course through him as he saw the unshed tears in them. "Has something happened?" he asked gently, but alert. _Of course something's happened, you idiot. _He chided himself.

"Give me your phone," Clary responded, reaching up and pulling his Sensor out of his shirt pocket before he could stop her. She was already turning away from him, though she couldn't go far as Jace still had ahold of her wrist "I have to—"

"It's not a phone," he said recovering himself, but also making no attempt to get it back from her. "It's a Sensor. You wont be able to use it."

"But I need to call the police!" she cried, her eye terrified.

"Tell me what happened first," Jace all but pleaded as she began to try and pull away from him. She was being ridiculous! Didn't she understand? "I can _help_ you."

A storm like one he had never seen clouded Clary's eyes in that moment, and with viciousness he wouldn't have guessed she possessed, her hand shot forward and clawed at his cheek. Surprised by her sudden attack, Jace reeled back loosening his grip as he went. It was all she needed though, as she tore herself free and bolted pell mell down the street towards the lights of Seventh Avenue.

He watched her dumbfounded, his hand on his cheek. _What the hell?!_ He had not planned on this. He had figured that she would have come with him, possibly grudgingly, but come all the same. What he did not expect, was that he would have lost her. And that it would be his fault simply because he was standing there with his mouth hanging open and staring down the street, instead of going after her. His lips quirked upward into a half smile. In this moment, he wasn't sure whether he was angry with her or in love with her. Lowering his hand, he saw blood on his fingertips.

Definitely angry with her.

"Are you _kidding me?"_ he sighed irritably pulling his stele from his pocket, but then thinking better of it, shoved it back down and took off down the road after her.

He had no idea where he was going though, and as he had let her get too far ahead he could hardly follow her. He knew that she would be running home, but . . . where in the Angel's name _was_ that? Coming to a cross walk, he cursed the red blinking hand and the horde of traffic that kept him from moving forward. Looking around as he bounced on the balls of his feet, he could only hope that he was going the right way. She had been so terrified. This could hardly be something little. Her horrified eyes burned behind his lids each time he blinked, and he felt with trepidation that he was taking too long and he would be too late. But too late for what? She had never said.

After what seemed like a good thirty minutes if not longer, for Jace wasn't completely sure, he finally threw caution to the wind and removed his glamour. Up ahead was a girl about his age, and he ran to catch up with her.

"Hello," he smiled as smoothly as he could, falling into stride with her steps.

The girl was curved in all the right spots, and had Jace not been in such a hurry and worried sick, he may have even been more appreciative. Her hand flew to her lips, her eyes wide as his sudden appearance startled her. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a gym bag slung over her shoulder. Upon taking in his appearance, she smiled with appreciation.

"Hello," she whispered back, shyly tugging on her yoga top.

Mundanes were so bizzare. But he smiled wider. "I was wondering if you could help me. I am supposed to be meeting a friend of mine—" and he made sure to emphasize the word 'friend' as he said it. "But I am horribly lost. She had given me directions, but I cant find them either . . . I'm wondering if you might know her?"

"Um . . . ," the girl looked up at him in wonder. While he usually enjoyed the effect he had on women, there were times that he found it to be a pain in the ass. And this was one of those times. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling at her. "Who—who is she? That is—I mean—what's her name?" She finally stammered out.

"Clary," Jace said, trying not to sound too rushed, and hoping that the girl would know who she was without needing a last name, cause he didn't know it. But his concern diminished as he saw instant recognition at the name.

"Clary _Fray?" _She said both her first and last name with surprise, and not with kindness. Something that annoyed Jace. "And here I thought that weird kid Simon was her only friend, who knew."

Jace cringed inwardly at the mention of Simon's name and was finding it harder to keep his smile. "Yep, who knew." he echoed. When she seemed compelled to not say anything more, he asked a little more impatiently. "So . . . do you know where she lives?"

"Oh!" She said suddenly, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment as if she had been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. She had been staring at his body with blatant desire, though Jace had chosen not to comment on it. He hated the fact that he had been reduced to asking for directions like a common mundane, but he kept the smile plastered to his face. "Just up here, actually." she grinned.

After getting the address from the mundane he had taken off, though she had tried to get him to stay longer. And now, flying up the steps of the brownstone, he feared he had taken too long already. Shutting the door with a loud click behind him, he paused getting a feel of the atmosphere and removing his seraph blade. Whispering, he watched as it flared up—the dangerously sharp tip gleaming in the dark. The corridor was unlit, the bulb in the lamp overhead obviously out. There was a door immediately to his right, and a sign promising palm readings and fortune telling. A piercing scream came from above him, and Jace was taking the stairs on his left two at a time, stopping only briefly in front of the only other door here in the split-level apartment. He listened, his breathing hitched but heard nothing. _Screw it_, he thought trying the handle and finding it unlocked.

He gasped. _Clary._

The house lay in ruins. Furniture was broken and lamps, books, and other debris littered the floor. Making his way through the room, he called out her name softly but received no answer. This was not good. _Shit!_ This was definitely not good! The further he got, the more his stomach tightened and his heart raced. Chunks were missing from the walls, paintings had been sliced through, and gouges had been torn into the floors. As he turned the corner he saw her lying motionless on the ground. And worse, he saw the Ravener next to her. He had just raised his blade when he realized that the demon wasn't going for Clary, but was jerking uncontrollably, its body heaving. It was then that a small silver box came spewing out of his mouth and landed with a thunk on the floor. With one last shudder, the demon began folding in on itself before vanishing

Rushing to Clary's side, he dropped his blade, his breath caught in his throat. "Clary?" _Please be breathing, please be alive. _He felt as if his heart had stopped. Looking down at her, he let out a sigh of relief. She was unconscious, but he could see the steady rise of her chest. She was alive. He slowly began to check the rest of her body. She had a long cut on her arm that looked like it was rather painful, but nothing else other than some minor scratches and bruises. Nothing fatal. He felt his heart lighten as he looked back to where the demon had vanished. This couldn't be possible, could it? But what other explanation was there? And he knew there wasn't one. _Clary had killed the Ravener._ But how? He frowned at what was left of the broken Sensor, shaking his head as a smile formed on his lips.

He was ninety percent sure.

It was then that he remembered that there should be another person here—Clary's mom. Standing, he moved through the house searching for another body. He pulled his witchlight from his pocket as he went, holding it up and letting it light his way. He searched every room, stopping only briefly as he entered what he was sure was was once Clary's room. The orange walls ripped apart, and her bed slashed to pieces. He would have shut the door as he backed out, but it was no longer on its hinges. He cursed under his breath as he realized that her mother was not here. He guessed it was better than finding her dead, but he still did not want to be the one to have to tell Clary. He didn't have high hopes. Ravener's are not known for leaving people alive.

Making his way back to Clary, he kneeled beside her. "Clary?" he whispered softly, and made to shake her arm lightly but pulled it back sharply as if he had been burned. Her skin was hot with fever. His eyes widened as he searched her body again, pulling her into his lap.

"No, no, no . . . ," he whispered in a panic. He had not seen anything when he checked her the first time, but— "Clary? _Clary!" _His tone was loud now, more urgent. He pushed her ruby curls out of her face, sticky with her blood, at the same time that he felt a sharp sting on his hand. He looked closer at her hair, and saw that what he had thought was blood was a really a mixture of blood and ichor. Running his hands along her scorched face and neck, he finally found it— hidden on the back of her neck was a small welt. The Ravener had stung her.

Jace could hear the sirens in the distance as he jumped to his feet and ran down the hallway. He had seen a linen closet here. He plucked a folded white pillowcase from it before he was at Clary's side again, and lifting her into his arms. She felt light, and molded perfectly to his chest. He did not look back as he made his way out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out the door with little effort. Up the road he could see the first of what he imagined would eventually be quite a few onlookers once the police arrived. Around the side of the house, he spotted some rosebushes arranged in a way that would hide them nicely, and made his way to them.

Once shielded from view, Jace laid Clary gently on the grass, noting that the cool dampness should help with her fever. Kneeling beside her, he went to work tearing the pillowcase into strips. He watched Clary closely as he went. The wailing of the police car was in front of the building now. The blue and white lights flashed over them, which Jace didn't mind. But he wished they would shut off the siren.

Clary begin gagging.

Frowning, he continued tearing strips from what was left of the pillowcase as her eyes fluttered open. "Don't move." he whispered, knowing that the poison would cause her agonizing pain if she did. Upon closer inspection, he had seen that it wasn't much of a sting, but a sting all the same. He guessed the Ravener had done it as it was dying, but he wasn't sure how much poison the it had managed to release.

He sighed with exasperation as she turned her head anyway; saw the pain in her eyes that she was biting back. Would she ever listen to him? Suddenly she tried to sit up—that answered his question—and immediately begin gagging, her body convulsing.

"I told you not to move," Jace hissed, annoyed that she still wasn't listening. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small tube and smeared some of its contents onto one of the cloth strips. "That Ravener demon got you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasn't much of a sting, but we have to get you to the Institute."

At his words, Clary's body began to tremble violently. "That thing—the monster— it _talked."_

"You've heard a demon talk before." Jace reminded her softly, and as gently as he could he slipped the cloth behind her neck.

Clary winced but did not move. "The demon in Pandemonium—it looked like a person."

Jace stared down at her, biting at the inside of his cheek. She finally believed now. He could see it in her eyes. "It was an Eidolon demon," he whispered. "A shape-changer. Ravener's look like they look. Not very attractive, but they're too stupid to care."

"It said it was going to eat me." her voice was rough. He said nothing as he brought the ends of the cloth strip to the front so that it wrapped around her neck and began to tie it in place—his fingers brushing against the hollow of her throat. He could see the fear in her eyes.

"But it didn't," he said. _But what if it had?_ a small voice plagued him. _It would be your fault._ His heart tightened at the truth of this. _My__ fault._ Calmer than he felt, he continued. "You killed it." Finishing the knot, he sat back and pushed his hair out of his face. He watched as her body relaxed and she pulled herself into a sitting position. She looked back to where the police car sat, lights still flashing.

"The police are here. We should—"

"There's nothing they can do." Jace cut her off, watching her wearily. He needed to get her to the Institute. While the ointment would relieve the pain of the sting and give her more time to get the help she needed, it would not remove the poison from her body. "Somebody probably heard you screaming and reported it. Ten to one those aren't real police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks."

"My mom," Clary's rough voice whispered.

The heartbreak in her eyes tore Jace to pieces. He contemplated telling her the truth but he knew that if he did he would never get her to leave. He had to make her understand. "There's Ravener poison coursing through your veins _right now." _he said, not completely meeting her eyes as he avoided the topic of her mom. "You'll be dead in an hour if you don't come with me." Getting to his feet, he held out his hand while holding his breath. He wondered if she was going to take it. Clary didn't hesitate though as she reached up and slipped her warm hand in his. He could still feel the fever on her skin. Exhaling, Jace pulled her gently to her feet. "Come on."

Clary tilted backwards then and Jace slid his arm quickly around her back to steady her. "Can you walk?" he asked wearily. The idea of carrying her again didn't bother him, but he worried that their slowed pace would put them at the Institute too late. But then, it may be quicker than having her stumbling beside him.

"I think so," Clary was uncertain, leaving Jace to wonder whether she realized that she was leaning into him. Reaching forward, she peeked through the dense rose bushes, gasped, and pressed back harder against him. Jace's arm, still around her, automatically pulled her in protectively as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. "Her hand—" she whispered before he could ask. Peering forward, he saw the demons in officers uniforms and cursed under his breath.

"I told you they might be demons," he said glancing toward the back of the house. "Can we go through the alley?"

Clary shook her head. "It's bricked up. There's no way—"

And then Jace stared in horror as her words were cut off with a sudden fit of coughing. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, and when she removed it blood coated her slender fingers. She pulled away from him, whimpering in terror. They had wasted too much time. Reaching forward he snatched her hand and turned it so that her palm faced up. He bit the inside of his cheek, looking at the delicate blue veins that traced up her arms. He was ninety percent sure. _But if he were wrong . . ._

He didn't have time to debate. She was beginning to shudder violently and Jace wasn't sure how long she would stay upright. Using his free hand to pull his stele from his pocket, he could feel as she tried to weakly pull away. He looked down at her but she was looking at the stele.

Ninety percent sure.

_Fuck it. _

Pressing the stele to her skin, he gingerly traced three overlapping circles just below her wrist. The black shining up at him was in stark contrast to the pale white of her skin. Stepping back, he watched her cautiously. After a few seconds he sighed with relief; a smile playing on his lips despite the situation. He was one hundred percent sure now. It was crazy, almost impossible, but she was a Shadowhunter—or, at least, had Shadowhunter blood running through her. He saw her eyeing the rune curiously.

"What's that supposed to do?"

"It'll hide you temporarily." As he shoved his stele back into his pocket, he saw her eyeing it.

"Whasthat?"

"My stele," he replied automatically, but then looked at her with alarm.

Clary was tottering back and forth, as if trying to stand upright in an earthquake. Fear filled him, as he glanced at her arm where he had Marked it. It couldn't be the rune, he thought. He had read about what could happen if someone were Marked who didn't have Nephilim blood, and this wasn't it. Burning, pain, and possibly changing into a monster? Yes. Slurring and staggering drunkenly? No. It had to be the poison. He reached forward to steady her and met her eyes.

"Jace."

His name. Just his name whispered from her lips was enough to wrap him in a terror he had only felt once before in his life. He caught her as she crumpled into him, and his pulse raced as he swung her easily into his arms, her body forming to his in familiar fashion. But it should not be familiar. His body should not recognize her slender form against his—as if he had held her in his arms countless times. Looking down at her closed eyes, the soft form of her lips, she looked like she was sleeping.

Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against her ear. "You stay alive, Clary Fray. Do you hear me? I need you to stay alive . . . _for me_."

And then he was running as fast as he could.

Jace just hoped it would be fast enough to beat death.


	3. Fairy Tales

_**A/N: **I don't own Mortal Instruments, I just play in their world. There is some strong language again, but I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

**~Chapter Three~**

**Fairy Tales**

"Hodge! _HODGE!_"

The heavy door to the institute closed loudly behind Jace. As carefully as he could, he laid Clary on the rug and ran forward, looking up at what he could see of the second floor landing. _Where the hell was everyone?_ It had taken him longer than an hour to get here, and he was terrified that it was too late. Already her breathing was incredibly shallow, and her pulse was nearly nonexistent.

"HODGE! ALEC! ISABELLE!"

Not wanting to wait, Jace picked Clary back up, his arms shaking beneath her weight. Having carried her this long his muscles had grown tired and wanted to give out. Halfway here, he had thought about drawing a strength rune on himself but had been afraid to slow down even for that. He had made it this far, though. Hadn't he? He could make it up the stairs. Gritting his teeth, he turned around with determination just as the elevator clanged opened and Alec, Isabelle and Hodge came out. Jace fell to his knees.

Alec ran forward, helping Jace to lower Clary back to the rug. Relieved of her weight once more, he felt as someone tried to move him back but he jerked away, refusing to leave Clary's side.

"What in the Angel's name happened?!" Hodge was shouting, but he could only shake his head. His exhaustion was overwhelming him. Strong hands were on his shoulders now, and Isabelle was in his face. Jace knew that she was talking to him. Knew that she was trying to get his attention, but he couldn't hear whatever it was. He could only see Clary. So tiny and fragil—so unmoving and pale.

He felt someone take his hand and then felt the sharp sting of a stele being pushed to his skin. A second later he heard whispered words, "Use my strength, brother." And then everything hit Jace with blinding clarity: Clary on the floor, Hodge hovering over her, shouting instructions to Isabelle who was running out of the room with lightning speed, and Alec sitting next to him—his hand gripping his own.

"Ravener," Jace croaked out, his throat raw. "She was stung on the back of her neck when she was fighting it—"

"What do you mean, _'when she was fighting it?'" _Hodge's eyes flashed.

"I—" Jace stammered, looking at Clary. Was she breathing? Please God, let her be breathing! "I don't know what happened. She got away from me and . . . and . . ." His voice fell away as Isabelle returned, dumping the items Hodge had told her to get unceremoniously to the floor. Jace, letting go of Alec, crawled forward and took Clary's face in his hands. "Is she alive, Hodge?" But Hodge didn't answer. He was busy mixing herbs and liquids together. "_Hodge!_"

"Yes, Jace," he finally answered. "But only just. Isabelle, I need some sheets." Jace barely saw her leave as she flew from the room. Leaning down, he pushed the curls out of Clary's face. He felt as if his heart would stop if hers did. _Wake up. _He wanted to shake her—shout at her—force her to wake up. He could hear the sounds of Alec and Hodge talking around him, but they weren't making sense. What had they said? He could hear one of them getting louder, and then louder still.

"Jace!"

Startled, he looked up and saw Hodge glaring at him. "I need you to open her mouth," he said with strained politeness. Nodding, Jace bent down and gently pried Clary's lips apart just as Hodge forced a smoking liquid down her throat. Setting the empty cylinder aside, Hodge put a hand on his shoulder, meeting Jace's eyes. "I appreciate that you are trying to be gentle with her, but now is not the time. We need speed, for time is not our friend. I can heal a bruise or a fracture. I cannot heal death."

His words sunk into Jace's heart like a dagger, and he nodded. "What can I—" Right then, his words were drowned out by the most horrific—most blood curdling—scream he had ever heard. His face went white, his heart pounding hard, as he looked at Clary in terror. Her body was thrashing on the rug with violent spasms. Dark poisonous ichor and blood was escaping from her cuts and scrapes. She screamed again. From the corner of his eye, Jace saw Hodge blot at his forehead with his handkerchief. Jace gasped as Clary's eyes suddenly flew open and he made to reach for her.

"Jace, no!" Hodge yelled, lunging for him. But it was Alec's arm that wrapped around him suddenly, pulling him back and preventing him from touching her. Anger flooded him as Clary screamed again.

"Get off me!" He growled at Alec as he tried to jerk away. But he was too weak now, and Alec was unmoving.

"Jace," Hodge was in front of him now, but Jace only stared at Clary. This did not stop Hodge from continuing. "The medicine I gave her, it was remedy, but—but her body has to excrete the poison." He pointed at the dark blood-ichor mix that now stained the rugs. "And I need you to understand that she may not live through it."

At that, Jace met his eyes. He felt he was falling then. "I ran," he whispered. "I ran as fast as I could."

"I know," Hodge said kindly. "And you nearly killed yourself with exhaustion doing so. Covering yourself in the poison by touching her now—" Hodge shook his head and sighed. "You will do her no favors by getting yourself killed now."

Isabelle was opening the sheets behind Hodge. Jace hadn't even noticed she returned. His body flinched every time Clary let out a scream, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. He didn't think he _could_ get up. Even the energy rune was no longer enough to keep his eyes from becoming heavy. Hodge was talking to Isabelle now, explaining that they would need to get Clary's clothes off and wrap her in a sheet before they moved her to the infirmary. He then turned to Alec. Jace missed what it was that he told him, but as Alec was looking at him now, he figured it had to do with him. It was funny how distorted they were all becoming.

"Come on," Alec said to him softly, grabbing him just above the elbow and hauling him to his legs. They had nearly buckled out from under him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jace knew that if Alec hadn't been supporting his weight they would have.

And then everything went dark.

_It was raining. Hooded figures clustered together around something and whispering agonized cries. Jace trying desperately to see what it was, circled the group to find a way through. They seemed to not notice him. Not a single one of them turned to see the boy standing there, soaked through. His heart was hammering. He wasn't sure why he needed to get through the crowd of people, he just knew that he did. That it was a matter of life and death. Finally he saw it—a small opening. It was almost too small, but he would push himself through._ As he emerged on the other side, his heart lurched and he fell to his knees. _Clary lay on the ground, her red curls fanned around her head like a halo. Her eyes were closed as if she were asleep, but Jace knew better._ _The white gown she wore was stained in blood. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He crawled toward her and drew her lifeless body across his lap, holding her head to his chest. "This is your fault." Jace heard a familiar voice behind him say. "You were always destined to get her killed." _

Jace jerked awake with a start, blinking in surprise. He was sweating, his breathing hitched. It took him a moment to realize that he was in his own bed, though he could not remember how he got here. All he could remember at the moment was the dream. The horrible dream that Clary had died. _Clary! _Kicking the tangled heaps of sheets off himself, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand—two in the morning. Was that really all? He felt as if it had been longer than a mere couple of hours that he had returned with her. And then he remembered that it had been Alec who had lifted him to his feet as he had sat exhausted on the floor in the entryway. Alec must have brought him here and got him in bed. Getting up, he grabbed a pair of lightweight flannel pants and a white t-shirt from his closet. Throwing them on, he headed for the door.

The Institute was quiet as he padded barefoot down the hall. His body ached horribly and he was still exhausted, but he had to see her. Had to know if she was okay. But surely they would have woken him if something had happened to her? But no . . . he knew they wouldn't. They would have wanted him to rest, and then broken the news to him in the morning. He quickened his pace while still trying to move silently as he turned to head downstairs, avoiding the elevator for he feared it would be too loud. He stopped. They would hardly have left her on the rug. Hodge had said they would take her to the infirmary. He turned around and headed back the way he had come.

As quietly as he could he pushed the large door to the infirmary open, wondering irritably if all the main rooms really needed such large wooden doors. Slipping in, he held the silver handle so that he could make sure it did not slam in its wooden frame. Hidden in the shadows, he peeked around quickly to make sure there were no other visitors. There were not. He moved silently across the room, searching each bed until he found her. His breath hitched as he saw her. The moonlight from the window cast an erie glow on her, making her look paler than she already was. He couldn't tell if she were breathing, but they wouldn't have brought her here if she wasn't, right? He moved forward quickly and gasped in terror.

It was his dream all over again. The white gown . . . her hair fanned around her. . .

It was then that Jace realized that the white gown was actually a sheet—nor was it covered in blood as it had been in his dream. He let out a breath, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. He stood there watching the rise and fall of her chest as she took each breath, and before he could stop himself—before he even realized what it was he was doing—he pressed his index and middle finger against her wrist, feeling the slow but steady beat of her radial pulse. He sighed and sat down in a chair that had been pulled up near the bed. He went over the events that had occurred, wondering if there was something he could have done differently. He remembered her asking about her mother, and how he had been afraid to tell her. No, not asking about her, Jace realized then. She knew her mother was missing. He wasn't sure how he knew this, but he did.

He rubbed at his temples. On the other side of the bed, was a table carrying three more empty cylinders. Jace blanched as he looked down at Clary once more. Someone—Isabelle probably—had taken care to clean her as best as they could. Reaching forward, he took a one of her ruby curls in his hand and watched it wrap around his finger lightly. He bit down on his cheek. _She was alive._ He had not dared to think it, even watching her breathe, but now. He knew it was true. He wanted to pick her up in his arms, to smooth back her hair, and to press his cheek to her forehead. Instead, he let her ringlet fall away from his hand as he sat back and watched her sleep.

When dawn approached, he was gone.

"Wake up, Jace."

Jace grumbled as he rolled onto his back. He forced one sleepy eye open and saw Alec looking down at him. Making an unkind remark, he closed it and rolled back over. But Alec was persistent, shaking his arm now.

Jace groaned into his pillow. "Does no one around here care about a mans beauty sleep?" he cried indignantly, flipping himself on his back.

Alec snorted. "You hardly need it."

Jace peeked up at him with amusement, and saw that Alec's eyes were wide. He looked as if he couldn't believe what he had just said. Jace only smiled. "Well, I can't argue with that now can I?"

Sitting up, he stretched and reached for the white shirt he had left at the foot of his bed last night. He saw that Alec had blushed, but decided not to say anything. Jamming his shirt over his head roughly, he looked up and saw that his parabatai had composed his features. He had always wondered about Alec. Why he had never seen him with a girl, or even seemingly remotely interested in a girl. It wasn't until he had cornered a drunk Isabelle that he had gotten the truth. While he doubted she remembered it, he had never spoken a word about it since. He figured that if Alec had wanted him to know, then he would tell him. The fact that Alec was gay didn't remotely bother Jace, nor did he feel any different toward him at all. Why would he? He still loved him, he was just saddened that Alec felt he had to hide it from him.

"Well, aren't you going to ask about your mundie?" Alec asked slightly surly, his arms crossed.

"She's not a—" but Jace caught himself. No one could know that he had Marked her. The amount of trouble he would get in? Even half unconscious last night, he knew that Hodge had been holding back on his anger. He was also sure that he was waiting to rip into him today. The last thing he needed was to throw fuel on the fire. "—She's not dead is she?" he finished lamely, already knowing the answer.

"No. But she hasn't woken up either."

"She hasn't?" Jumping lightly to his feet he crossed his room in long strides, hearing Alec's calls of protest behind him. He was halfway down to the hall before he stopped. He bit the inside of his cheek, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't think he could be in there now. Not with everyone watching him. He wasn't sure he could hide his emotions just yet, and he didn't want to see the smug look on Isabelle's face or the pained look on Alec's. Dejectedly, he turned around and nearly knocked Isabelle over.

"Could you watch where your going?" She pushed her hair back indignantly, and Jace smiled as she retightened her grip on the small black plastic bag she was carrying.

"Sorry, but you know me . . . I never knowing if I'm coming or going," he grinned.

"That's what _she_ said," Isabelle retorted.

"Oh look at you!" Jace's eyes were wide with laughter. "All full of zingers on this beautiful morning!"

At that, Isabelle's eyes narrowed. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He asked frowning. Clary was alive. It was all he asked for. Granted . . . awake would be nice too, but he would not push his luck at the moment.

"Well lets see; you brought a mundie back here, half dead yourself from sheer exhaustion . . ." and before Jace could stop her, she had launched into the wildly descriptive and detailed story of his arrival back to the Institute with Clary. He could have pointed out that as he was the one who went through it, he hardly needed to be told. Instead he stood there, an amused grin playing on his lips. "Oh, and not to mention that its four in the afternoon, dumbass. So it's hardly morning." she finished.

His eyes widened. "_Dumbass?_ You wound me madam! I am hardly a dumbass. Now a _smartass? _Well, that's another story." and then Jace sighed. "Is it really four in the afternoon?" he asked.

Isabelle nodded, her lips quivering upward. "What are we going to do with you?"

Jace thought for a moment. "Oh, I know!"

"So are you going to go see her?" she asked, before he could continue. She was obviously uninterested in just what it was that Jace thought they could do with him.

"No." Jace said without offering an explanation, his smile faltering as he stared at the object in her hand. "What's in the bag?" he asked, changing the subject.

Izzy looked down at item she held. It was obvious by the look on her face that she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. "Clothes—the mundanes clothes." She amended. "They're covered in blood and ichor. I'm going to see if I can get them cleaned so that she'll have something to wear when she wakes."

Jace couldn't hide his surprise. Izzy? Willingly washing the clothes of a girl she thought to be a mundane? He bit the inside of his cheek, looking at the amazingly beautiful girl in front of him. She wore a pair of tight blue jeans and a tighter still black tank-top. He had wondered once, if he had not thought of her too much as a sister would they have had a fling? But just as he couldn't imagine it then, he still couldn't imagine it now.

"What?" Izzy said suddenly, self-conscious of his staring at her.

"Isabelle Lightwood? Washing the clothes of a mundane?" he gasped, clutching his chest in mock surprise in effort to hide his real shock. "Now I've seen everything!"

At this, she smiled—her eyes seeming to know something that he did not. "Eh, I've got nothing better to do." she said, giving the bag a shake.

And then Jace's hand shot forward, relieving Isabelle of the bag to her startled surprise.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her hands flying to her hips. She did not bothering trying to get the bag back, though.

Jace could only shake his head as he remembered the night before. The demon, Clary's mom gone, running through the city with her dying in his arms, and her clothes . . . soaked with blood and poison as he urged himself to run faster. Urged her to stay alive. He didn't think he would be able to look at the clothes without seeing her dying in them—even _if_ Izzy managed to get the stains out.

"I don't think washing them is a good idea," he finally said instead. "With as much poison that soaked into the fabric, it would be best to burn them."

"Burn them? But Jace—"

He was already backing away. "One should always err on the side of caution." he said with a quick smile. "Just give her something of yours to wear for now."

At this she snorted. "Have you seen how tiny she is? She'll never—"

But what 'she'll never,' Jace didn't find out as he had already rounded the corner, Isabelle's voice dying away and the black bag gripped tightly in his hand. As he passed the elevator door, he looked around to see if anyone was coming. Only Church, the fat blue persian cat, sat there staring at him.

"Don't tell Hodge, Church!" he said quickly over his shoulder as he continued toward the kitchen. The cat narrowing it eyes and swishing it tail, turned and stalked away. _Traitor_, Jace thought mutinously.

In the kitchen, he tossed the bag on the counter as he set about finding the stuff he would need. He returned with a medium metal trash can and some matches. Setting the can on the ground near an open window and away from anything that could possibly prove to be flammable, he grabbed the bag and dropped it in. He didn't bother to open it. He didn't want to see the clothes. He pulled a chair over and sat, biting the inside of his cheek. He hesitated only a minute before striking the match and tossing it into the can. The flame started low as it burned through the plastic, and then steadily began to rise. Acrid black smoke filled the air.

Jace sat there until nothing but ash remained.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind for Jace. Hodge made him sit and recount everything to the last detail (though he had to admit that he had left some things out), before yelling at him and telling him that he should never have let him go. Alec had tried several times to engage him in conversation, and then combat training when that had failed. Isabelle was scarcely seen as she flitted in out out of the infirmary, frustrated that Jace seemed hellbent not to join her there. And Clary—Clary did not wake up. Once everyone was asleep, Jace slipped quietly into the infirmary again. He sat watching over her till dawn.

To Jace's dismay, Clary did not wake the following day either. He could hear the hushed whispers of Alec and Isabelle wondering if she would die. _"She was a mundie, after all." _he had heard Isabelle say. At one point, Hodge came to visit Jace in his room while he was looking into Clary's neighbor (Jace had hastily minimized his computer screen), in order to ask if he intended to go to the infirmary at all while she was unconscious. When he shook his head no, Hodge—looking like he wanted to say something but thinking better of it, walked out and closed the door quietly behind him. Alone, Jace dropped his head in his hands.

"_Please wake up, Clary."_ he whispered.

That night, he stood by the window near her bed. The sky was clear, but the stars were not easily seen above the city that glittered like diamonds. He wondered what he would do if she didn't wake. She was like Sleeping Beauty—waiting for the kiss that would open her eyes. He sighed, pulling the white laced curtains closed. Not all fairy tales were real.

_"Jace."_

His heart fluttered erratically as his head snapped to the girl laying motionless on the bed. Crossing the space between them in only a few steps, he leaned over her. Had she—had she said his name? She looked no different; small, fragile—pale and unmoving, but. . . He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he began to slowly sit down. Her hand twitched and he was on his feet again. Clary's brow had furrow now; her head turning from side to side as her breathing quickened. Reaching forward with trembling fingers, he smoothed back the hair that had fallen across her face.

"Clary?" he whispered. She grew still at the sound of her name, her body relaxing and her breath becoming steady again. It took everything Jace had to not try to shake her awake.

_"Jace?"_ she breathed again, showing no signs of stress. Her eyes did not open.

It was then that he realized she was dreaming. Of _him. _Jace felt as if his stomach were twisting in knots, and he couldn't stop himself from taking her hand in his. "I'm here, Clary." he whispered to the sleeping girl. He wasn't sure what he had hoped for—a response maybe? But he got none. He was relieved to see that she at least looked peaceful. He would do anything to keep her out of that kind of pain again. "I'm here," he repeated. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly across hers.

He was gone at by dawn.

That morning Jace was met with the same news. Clary was still unconscious, and neither Isabelle or Hodge asked this time if he would be going to see her as they knew his answer by now. Showered, he threw on some jeans and a light gray t-shirt. He didn't bother with shoes, as he didn't plan to go anywhere. In fact, he hadn't gone anywhere since he had returned with Clary. He hated the idea of her waking up while he was gone. Unsure of where to go or what to do, he was surprised to find himself in the music room. The light that filtered in through the windows cast a dim glow on the sheeted instruments, but it was otherwise dark. He didn't bother to flip on the lamp overhead as he moved toward the grand piano sitting in the corner. It, too, had been covered to protect it from dust. In one quick motion, he removed the sheet revealing the gleaming black piano underneath and tossed it aside.

It had been awhile since he had played, but as he sat and pushed back the cover, he couldn't help but to feel as if her were meeting an old friend. He ran a finger lightly across the ivory keys before pressing down on one. The note resonated through the room. He pressed down on another one, his head tilting to the side as his eyes closed. Soon his hands were sliding across the keys; the melody blending together in harmony. He played of fear and heartbreak, of new beginnings and love. And he played of the unknown. Of fear. When the music came to an end, he looked down at the piano in surprise. It had been his father who had taught him how to play, but he had not played since he left Idris—not since he had witnessed his father. . . He shook his head and placed his hands expertly over the keys again. This time he did not play the piano with his emotions, but more as a means to pass the time.

Through the notes he played, he heard the distinct scuffle of a shoe, and turned toward the door. Do to the dimness in the room, he could only just make out the shadow of a person in the room. "Alec? Is that you?" he called out.

"It's not Alec." The familiar voice rang through the room, and Jace's eyes widened. His heart beginning to hammer against his chest. "It's me," she went on. "Clary."

As if he needed to be told. In his attempt to stand quickly, he nearly lost his balance, and pressed down on the keys to steady himself—the harsh notes filling the room. He could see her now that she had moved further into the room. Three days she had been asleep. He thought of last night, of the light kiss he had given her, and a voice sounded in the back of his head. _All fairy tales are real. _

"Our own Sleeping Beauty," he said with a hint of a smile. "Who finally kissed you awake?"

"Nobody. I woke up on my own." She sounded neither amused nor annoyed at his comment. But he couldn't help but to be slightly disappointed. He had hoped that perhaps on some level—but no. He had been a fool to think that.

"Was there anyone with you?" he asked instead. He didn't like the idea of her waking up in a strange place alone. Granted, he's not sure what he expected would have happened seeing as how he had refused to see her during the day.

"Isabelle," she said. "But she went off to get someone—Hodge, I think. She told me to wait, but—"

She looked sheepishly at Jace and he had to bite back a laugh. _But you never listen, _he silently finished her sentence. "I should have warned her about your habit of never doing what you're told." In the dark he could just see the annoyed flash of her emerald eyes that he had worried he wouldn't see again. Then he looked down at what she was wearing. Squinting he leaned forward to better see the loose red tank top and too-long jeans that she had rolled up. "Are those Isabelle's clothes?" he asked, knowing full well that they were. He just hadn't thought that they would be so— "They look ridiculous on you."

"I could point out that you burned _my_ clothes." she said affronted.

_Flying through the night as he raced death. Clary, lying on the floor screaming, her clothes torn and stained with blood and poison—_

"It was purely precautionary," he said, turning away from her abruptly and sliding the piano cover closed. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

As they walked through the Institute, Jace watched with amusement as Clary took in everything around her with child-like wonder. She turned her head to peer curiously into every room they passed, and took in every painting with keen interest.

"Why does this place have so many bedrooms?" she asked as they passed by yet another one. "I thought it was a research institute."

"This is the residential wing," he explained, gesturing grandly. "We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here."

"But most of these rooms are empty."

"People come and go. Nobody stays for long." He looked down at her and found her looking into an empty room with curiosity. "Usually it's just us," he continued. "Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents—and me and Hodge."

"Max?" she asked looking up and meeting his gaze.

Jace smiled. "You met the beauteous Isabelle? Alec is he elder brother. Max is the youngest, but he's overseas with his parents." He had always had a soft spot for Max. He missed the kid when he was gone.

"On vacation?"

"Not exactly." He knew that it was just out of curiosity that she asked, but he wasn't sure how much Hodge would approve of him telling her about the Accords. But then, she _was_ a Shadowhunter . . . even if they didn't know it. He bit the inside of his cheek, deciding. And then, "You can think of them as—as foreign diplomats, and of this place as an embassy, of sorts. Right now they're in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young."

"Shadowhunter home country?" She said slowly, sounding perplexed. "What's it called?"

"Idris," he shrugged as he led her down another corridor.

"I've never heard of it." and she was looking at him as if he were insulting her intelligence.

He wasn't. But he also couldn't help but to smile in amusement as she stated the obvious. _Of course _she had never heard of it. "You wouldn't have. Mundanes don't know about it." he went on as if she should know this. "There are wardings—protective spells—up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

"So it's not on any maps?" And he knew she was trying to comprehend the idea of a hidden country.

"Not mundie ones." he said. "For our purposes you can consider it a small country between Germany and France."

"But there isn't anything between Germany and France." Her tone was exasperated again. "Except Switzerland."

"Precisely," Jace said, hiding his smile as her brow furrowed.

She was quiet for a bit. Contemplating. But Jace knew it wouldn't last. She was too curious—too full of question. And then, "I take it you've been there. To Idris, I mean."

Full of questions that always seemed to bring him up short. Just as before, he knew that it was only out of curiosity that she asked. She could not know the memories the place held for him, and he feared that if he answered, she would ask more. Keeping his tone as neutral as he could.

"I grew up there." And then he waited, biting the inside of his cheek for the torrent of questions that were sure to come. The questions he didn't want to be asked, nor answer. To his relief, they never came. Glancing down at her, he could see the unasked questions in her eyes. He sighed inwardly. "Most of us do," he continued, wondering what is was about her that could draw him out of himself. "There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere, because demonic activity is everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always 'home.'"

"Like Mecca or Jerusalem," Clary said thoughtfully. And then taking his response as permission to continue with the questions, she went on. "So most of you are brought up there, and then when you grow up—"

"We're sent where we're needed." Jace said abruptly. From his peripheral, he saw her flinch slightly at his tone. That had not been his intention, and he teetered on the verge of somehow trying to explain to her that the talk of Idris—the memories of living there, the memories of leaving it—it was painful for him. Instead, he continued with, "And there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, Hodges training—" he stopped in front of a large set of wooden doors with relief. He hadn't realized how much of an effect this small girl could have on him. "This is the library."

Clary glanced at the doors and then at the ground. He followed her gaze. Church was curled in front of them, his head raising toward them and letting out a low yowl. "Hey Church," Jace said using the bottom of his bare foot to pet the cat, the fur soft against his skin.

"Wait," Clary said suddenly, and Jace looked at her guarded. But she continued on. Always full of questions. "Alec and Isabelle and Max—they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?"

"Yes?" _So?_ He lowered his foot back to the ground, trying to gauge her expression.

"That must get kind of lonely." She had not said it maliciously, nor did he think she meant to offend, but he couldn't help to get feel slightly as she had insulted him. Worse than being treated with spite, was being treated with pity. And that's what he recognized her tone as now. She didn't know him, and she didn't know what true loneliness was. He didn't need her pity.

"I have everything I need." Without another word, he pushed open the doors not bothering to wait for her. He wasn't sure why her words had upset him. And now that he had left her standing out there in the hall, he cringed inwardly at his behavior. He should have at least held the door for her. He shuddered at the idea of being no better than that mundane friend of hers.

He turned to say something to her, to apologize—but was brought up short. Clary was walking forward slowly, her mouth agape at the vastness of the library. Her eyes roved with wonder from case to case and shelf to shelf. To the windows and the domed ceiling. He couldn't help but to smile at her awed expression, his earlier irritation gone. She was so easily impressed. He watched with amusement as she walked right past him without seeing him, her lips turned up into a smile as she went. She couldn't take her eyes off the room around her, and Jace couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"A book lover, I see."

Jace looked up to see Hodge smiling at Clary from behind his large desk, and then meeting his own gaze, he said, "You didn't tell me that, Jace."

Tucking his hands into his pocket, he came up behind Clary as he chuckled. How could he possibly explain Clary to Hodge? Besides, "We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance—" _Only fought demons, argued, made fun of her twit of a friend, fought more demons, found out she was a Shadowhunter, feared her dead, saved her life, and gave her a kiss she would never know about. _"—I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up."

At this, Clary turned at shot daggers at him. Jace's grin widened.

"How can you tell?" she asked, her tone kinder toward Hodge as she turned back to him. "That I like books, I mean."

"The look on your face when you walked in," Hodge smiled as he got up and made to move around the desk, Hugo perched on his shoulder. "Somehow I doubt you were that impressed by _me_."

Jace laughed. Having seen the look on Clary's face when she walked in, he doubted she had even noticed Hodge. But she noticed him now.

"This is Hugo," Hodge said, though Jace hadn't heard her ask. "Hugo is a raven and, as such, he knows many things. I meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough." With that, he put out his hand.

"Clary Fray." She said in way of introduction, reaching forward to shake it. Jace realized then that he sucked at being a host. Shrugging, he moved forward and pulled out a chair at a nearby table and sat down. From this angle, he was still behind Clary, but could also see Alec in front of him sprawled in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. Jace had sensed him when he came in, as he always would, but he hadn't seen him until now. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair so the front two legs came up off the ground just as Hodge said something to Clary that Jace missed.

"I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands." Hodge continued.

"It wasn't my bare hands," Clary said uncomfortably. "It was Jace's—well, I don't remember what it was called, but—"

"She means my Sensor," Jace called from the table, resting his arms behind his head. "She shoved it down the thing's throat. The runes must have choked it." _Oh, and speaking of Sensors. . . _"I guess I'll need another one." he added. "I should have mentioned that."

"There are several extra's in the weapons room," Hodge said, smiling at Clary. "That was quick thinking. What gave you the idea of using a Sensor as a weapon?"

Before she could reply, Jace heard Alec laugh unkindly. Slowly, almost as if bored, he tilted his head down to see his parabatai, his hands still behind his head. "I can't believe you buy that story, Hodge," Alec said, not looking back at Jace.

Jace heard Clary's intake of breath but did not turn away from the boy in the chair, as Hodge began to speak. "I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alec." And Jace could hear the frown in Hodge's voice as he continued. "Are you suggesting that she didn't kill the demon after all?"

"Of course she didn't. Look at her—" and Alec gestured toward Clary as if that proved everything right there. Jace raised his eyebrow, and Alec went on hastily. "She a mundie. And a little kid, at that—" Jace locked down on his jaw as he could almost hear Clary's body go rigid anger. "—There's know way she took on a Ravener."

"I'm not a little kid," Jace heard Clary interrupt, and he was glad he wasn't looking at her now. He could practically feel the the glare he knew she was giving Alec. "I'm sixteen years old—well, I will be on Sunday."

Alec didn't look impressed.

"The same age as Isabelle," Hodge said coming to her defense. "Would you call her a child?"

"Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history," Alec said unfazed. "This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

"Im from Brooklyn!" The outrage in Clary's voice was evident, and Jace smiled, happy that it was directed at someone else for once. He brought his chair down with a thunk to look at her. Her body was stiff with anger, her hands balled in fist as she shot daggers at Alec. "And so what?" She continued, her eyes on fire. "I just killed a demon in my own house, and you're going to be a dickhead about it because I'm not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?"

_Oh snap!_ Jace's jaw was hurting now as he tried desperately to fight back the laughter. Turning to see the look on Alec's face and he nearly came undone.

"_What_ did you just call me?" Alec snarled, his eyes wide.

Jace leaned back in the chair again, the two legs popping up off the floor as he looked at his brother with a smile. "She has a point, Alec," he said casually putting his hands back behind his head. And Alec's eyes popped to his with hurt surprise. But Jace continued on, "Plenty of Downworld activity going on in the boroughs, you know. It's those bridge-and-tunnel demons you really have to watch out for—"

"It's not _funny,_ Jace," Alec cut him off angrily getting to his feet. "Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?"

"Yes," Jace said generously and closed his eyes, his smile still on his lips. "It'll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training."

"We may be _parabatai,_" Alec said stiffly. "But your flippancy is wearing on my patience."

At this, Jace leaned forward, the legs of the chair hitting the floor hard. The humor was gone in his eyes now as he looked at Alec. "An your obstinacy is wearing on mine. When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?"

For all that he loved Alec, his stubbornness was just too much sometimes. So much so, that Jace shouldn't have been nearly half as surprised as he was when Alec said, "Raveners are stupid. Maybe it got itself in the neck with it's stinger. It's happened before—"

"Now your suggesting it committed suicide?" Jace cut him off, his furrowing with disbelief.

He watched as Alec's mouth tightened, looking from him, to Clary, and then to Hodge. "It isn't right for her to be here." He said finally, switching track. Jace got slowly to his feet. "Mundies aren't allowed to be in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that. If anyone knew about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

"That's not entirely true," Hodge said before Jace could comment. "The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Clary's mother—" Jace cast a sidelong glance at Clary at this, biting the inside of his cheek. He saw her frown. "—she could have been next." Hodge finished.

"Raveners are search-and-destroy machines," Alec insisted. "They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" Jace cringed inwardly at his use of the words '_ordinary mundane_' for he alone knew the truth. But he said nothing as Alec's eye's rested hatefully on Clary. "Any thoughts?"

"It must have been a mistake." Clary said immediately.

But Alec instantly dismissed her words. "Demons don't make those kinds of mistakes. If they went after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent—"

_Oh dear God, no. _Jace closed his eyes and shook his head as Clary cut Alec off, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean, 'innocent'?"

For the first time, Alec faltered. "I—"

_Just shut up, man!_ Jace wanted to tell him. Alec had already stuck his foot so far in his mouth, Jace wasn't sure if he would see it again any time soon. He wasn't even sure why Alec was acting like this. Since when did he have a problem with mundanes? And what had Clary done to him to earn his contempt? But it was Hodge who jumped in to save Alec from his stammering.

"What he means," Hodge began, glaring at Alec. "Is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind who might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon—they lack that power—but there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

"My mother doesn't know any warlocks. She doesn't believe in magic." and then Jace could almost see her eyes widen as she thought of something. "Madame Dorothea—" she breathed. _Oh. Her._ Jace rolled his eyes as Clary went on. "—she lives downstairs—she's a witch. Maybe the demons were after her and got my mom by mistake?"

At this, Hodge's eyebrows nearly shot off his head. "A witch lives downstairs from you?"

"She's a hedge-witch," Jace said unimpressed. "A fake," he added seeing Clary's look of confusion. "I already looked into it. There's no reason for any warlock to be interested in her unless he's in the market for nonfunctional crystal balls."

"And we're back to where we began." Hodge sighed, reaching up to stroke the birds feathers. ""It seems the time has come to notify the Clave."

"No!" Jace said rounding the table, seeing Clary's eyes widen as he did. There was no telling what the Clave would do if they became involved. But he knew that they might make her leave, and _that_ he didn't want to risk. "We can't—"

"It made sense to keep Clary's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover," Hodge cut him off. "But now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed."

Was this what it had come to? Jace's palms begin to sweat as he looked at Clary and then back to Hodge. The beat of his heart was filling his ears, and biting the inside of his cheek he closed his eyes. He heard Alec saying something—something about sending a message. _Fuck it._

"She's not a mundane," he whispered.

The silence was deafening—a term he had always found peculiar, but suddenly understood in this moment. As the people around him went quiet, he could hear the rustling of Hugo's feathers, the honking of the traffic outside, the speeding drum of his own heartbeat. Slowly he opened his eyes and found all three of them staring at him. Hodge's eyebrows surely had flown off his head this time, and Alec stared at him with his mouth hanging open. It was Clary who recovered first, her eyes searching Jace's face.

"But, I am."

"No," He said, holding her gaze. "You aren't." And then he turned back to Hodge, feeling as if his heart would hammer out of his chest. He drummed his fingers nervously against his legs to the beat of his pulse. Now or never, he guessed. He swallowed. "That night—there were Du'sien demons, dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn't time to hide—she would have died. So I used my stele—" Hodges face was getting redder by the minute, Jace noticed. "—put a _mendelin _rune on the inside of her arm—"

"Are you out of your _mind," _Hodge yelled, slamming his hand on the desk with enough force to make Clary jump. Jace bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood this time. _Shit, shit, shit. _"You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundanes!" Hodge shouted at Jace. "You—of all people ought to know better!"

"But it worked," Jace said beseechingly. "Clary, show them your arm." Her face was bewildered as she held out her arm, and they all moved forward to look at it. Jace could just see the three overlapping circles that had faded into thin white scars that nearly blended into her skin. "See it's almost gone now," Jace continued. "It didn't hurt her at all."

But Hodge was neither impressed, nor less angry. "That's not the point," he said through his teeth. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken."

Jace felt as if he had been slapped. But she hadn't turned! He knew it had been risky, but he had known! Been sure it would work. He avoided looking at Clary, now. Looking to his parabatai, he hoped that he could look past what he did, and instead see that it worked. But Alec was shaking his head, his face flushed.

"I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunters can receive Covenant Marks—they _kill_ mundanes—"

"She's not a mundane," Jace said, his fists clenching. And he was fully aware of what could have happened—but it didn't! "Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us, She must have Clave blood."

"But I don't. I couldn't." Clary whispered.

"You must." Jace said, still unable to look at her. "If you didn't, that Mark I made on your arm. . ." But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He shouldn't have to say it, cause she wasn't a mundane. But she had a right to know. He opened his mouth to speak again.

"That's enough, Jace," said Hodge, stopping him. "There's no need to frighten her further."

He threw a side-long glance at Clary to see if she was indeed frightened, before meeting Hodge's gaze. "But I was right, wasn't I?" Jace pressed. "It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies."

"My mother wasn't a Shadowhunter!"

Jace turned, startled. She was so sure about this that Jace switched tracks. "Your father, then. What about him?"

Glaring at him flatly, she said, "He died. Before I was born." and Jace flinched inward. He had not known. He wanted to apologize, but held his tongue. If only she knew that this—the loss of a father—was something he _could_ sympathize with.

"It's possible," Alec said uncertainly, taking a step forward. "If her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane—well, we know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were hiding."

"My mother would have told me," Clary said. And Jace knew she so desperately wanted to believe that. But he wasn't so sure.

"Not necessarily," he said slowly, trying to at least look apologetic. "We all have our secrets."

"Luke," Clary said suddenly, pushing her red curls back absentmindedly. "Our friend. He would know." And then more urgently, "It's been three days—he must be frantic. Can I call him? Is there a phone?" She turned then to Jace, her eyes beseeching, and Jace had to dig his heels into the ground to keep from rushing to her. "_Please." _She whispered.

If it had been up to him, he would have taken her to the phone right then. In fact, he had nearly said yes. But he also knew the danger behind this as well. He didn't know this Luke, but if this guy knew what was going on—knew of their world—well, he wasn't sure if it was good or bad that Clary talk to him. It took effort to pull his gaze away from Clary in order to look at Hodge—who nodded. He could hear Clary's sigh of relief as Hodge moved aside and she rushed forward to the old black telephone and begin to dial, turning her back to them once she was done.

Jace could hear as she began speaking into the phone and moved forward to stand next to her when Hodge put a hand on his arm, halting him. "_Give her privacy,_" he whispered so low Jace almost didn't hear it. Jace looked back to Clary who was twirling the phone cord around her finger. _Um . . . Nope, don't think so._ Pulling gently out of Hodges grip he continued forward and leaned against the chair that Alec had been sitting in; only a couple feet away from where she stood now.

"I'm in the city," Clary was saying. "I dont know where exactly. With some friends. My wallet's gone, though. If you got some cash, I could take a cab to your place—" Jace saw the phone slip in her hand, as surprise crossed her face. She managed to catch it however and pressed it tighter to her ear. "What?"

She was silent. And then, "We could call—" but she went quite again. Jace saw as her full lips became thin lines and her eyes went wide. "But I don't want to stay here." She said suddenly, and Jace tried to not look crestfallen at how desperate she sounded. "I don't know these people. You—" Now that just hurt. She knew him. Knew she could trust him, couldn't she? Had she forgotten that he had saved her life? A little appreciation wouldn't hurt, Jace thought grumpily.

"I'm sorry. It's just—"

And then she was lowering the receiver, staring at it as if she had been slapped. Shaking her head, she dialed again before slamming the phone down.

"I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?" He said a little more heartless than he probably should have. But hey, she was the one who didn't want to stay here. But when she rounded on him, he flinched backward as he saw that she was blinking back tears. He regretted his tone immediately as a rage he couldn't explain filled him at this Luke person. He was torn between going to her and finding this guy and dragging him here to apologize to her. Before he could do either, Hodge spoke.

"I think I'd like to have a talk with Clary," he said. _Go ahead, _Jace thought. And he made to sit down. "Alone," Hodge amended firmly. Jace was mutinous now. He wanted him to leave Clary's side? But she was in pain and needed—_Needs what? Your witticism? _A small voice questioned. Before he could answer, Alec was already moving forward, his eyes alight at the possibility of leaving—not that anyone had asked him to be here in the first place.

"Fine, we'll leave you to it," he said reaching the doors.

"That's hardly fair," Jace objected now. "I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life!" And then he turned to Clary, meeting her emerald gaze pleadingly. "You want me here, don't you?"

But she looked away.

"Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace." Alec laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped as if Alec had suggest the sky weren't blue. But then . . . he was right—something Jace guessed was bound to have happen eventually. He sighed. "Fine, then. We'll be in the weapons room." he said walking dejectedly out of the room.

In the hall, Jace stopped and looked back at the large wooden doors. He wondered what Hodge would do if he walked back in. _He'd send you right back out, dumbass._ Sighing, he realized that Church had taken off as well. Raking his hand through his hair, and then sliding it down to the back of his neck, he massaged it roughly.

Looking up, he was was met by Alec. "Come on," he said tugging at the sleeve of Jace's t-shirt. "Some knife throwing will cheer you up."

Jace gave a small nod of ascent and followed Alec down the hall toward the weapons room, looking back at the library door as he went.


	4. Nothing Can Ever Be Easy

_**A/N:**__ So I first wanted to say thank you for the amazing reviews I have been receiving! They mean a lot to me. Also, I know that I have been steadily pushing out the chapters over the last four days, but I have to admit, that that is because of my days off. Unfortunately, I work tomorrow, so I won't be able to devote my time to writing. Over the next work week, I hope to update with at least one chapter though. As always, I hope you like it! _

* * *

**~Chapter Four~**

**Nothing Can Ever Be Easy**

Jace was still upset that Clary had not asked him to stay with her. He had thought she would with undeniable certainty. Alec had said that not everyone wanted him all the time, but Jace knew that couldn't be true. He had thought that Alec might have been right at first, but after sending him to the Weapons Room, while he went and grabbed his shoes, Jace had realized that thatcouldn't be it. But still, a nagging voice wondered if perhaps Clary just truly didn't like him. In the Weapons Room, they had done everything from throwing knives, which subsequently _did_ happen to cheer him up a little (this whole 'Alec being right' thing was getting to be a little too much), before moving on to sparring. From there they had practiced tumbling. Now they sat at a table containing seraph blades. Using their steles, they were marking them with the runes that would name them, preparing them for use.

The soft click of the door shutting caught Jace's attention. Looking up, he saw Clary standing there, her eyes were no longer watery but the traces of having shed tears still evident on her face, if only just. His stomach twisted and he bit down on his on the inside of his cheek. _She doesn't want to be here, _Jace reminded himself.

"Where's Hodge?" he asked as flippantly as he could, causing Alec to look up.

"Writing to the Silent Brothers."

"Ugh," Alec said, repressing a shudder. Jace couldn't help but to wonder if it was because of Clary's reply, or just because of Clary. He grinned to himself and watched as Clary moved closer.

"What are you doing?" Her tone was light and curious now. No trace of the stress she had been in in the library.

"Putting the last touches on these," Jace said, moving so that she could see what he was talking about. Pointing to each one, he called them by their chosen names, "Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangeleaf." Seeing the confusion on her face, he add, "They're seraph blades."

"Those don't look like knives." she said with wonder. "How did you make them? Magic?"

Alec's face immediately distorted with horror; his eyes widening and his brows knitting together. It would have been funny, if Jace hadn't felt the same way—though he chose not to show it with by painting a ridiculous look on his face. He wondered if he should bother to explain it to her, what with her not knowing them, nor wanting to be there.

"The funny thing about mundies," he said, looking at no one in particular but knowing that Clary knew he was talking to her. "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."

"I know what it means," Clary snapped at him, her emerald orbs blazing.

"No you don't," Jace said dismissively. "You just think you do. Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish."

She looked pissed now. "I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish, you—"

But Jace was already cutting off what he was sure was going to be a most lovely pet name with a wave of his hand. He couldn't say why he was enjoying himself, but he was. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it?" And then he cringed inward. God how he hated ducks—with their beady little eyes and self entitled superiority. "And God help the poor bastard who decides to take a bath with the duckie."

"You're driveling," Clary said with a slight hint of amusement.

"I'm not," Jace said, drawing himself up regally. _I just really, _really,_ hate ducks._

"Yes, you are," Alec quipped suddenly, and Jace turned vexed eyes to him. "Look," he went on hastily, purposely avoiding Clary, but not looking at Jace now either. "We don't do magic, Okay? That's all you need to know about it."

Clary looked as if she were about to yell at Alec again, and Jace thought back to the library when she had called him a dickhead. Then she had had Hodge at her side, who Alec never crossed. Jace wasn't sure _what_ would happen if she said something rude to Alec without Hodge here. Jace would step in, of course, but . . . either way, he didn't think it would end well. Picking up a seraph blade, he turned it in his hands, waiting. He was saved from having to find out when her next sentence contained nothing derogatory.

"Hodge said I can go home."

They did bring him up short, though. The blade nearly fell from his hand as he looked up at her in shock. "_He said what?"_

"To look through my mother's things," she amended quickly, reaching up and nervously tugging on one of her crimson curls. "If you go with me."

Somewhere next to him, Jace heard Alec say his name, but he could not bring himself to answer. He was watching Clary with keen interest—as if she were one of Da Vinci's famous pieces of art that hid a lost painting beneath it. Jace felt he had only just begun to scratch the surface with her. Isabelle's too big tank top and too long jeans made her look smaller than she already was, more fragile. And yet, Jace knew she was anything but. He knew that she remembered what had happened at her house, remembered the Ravener demon—and still she was willing to go back? And not just willing, but it was clear she _wanted_ to, and was probably going to go with or without him.

At his silence, Clary went on quickly. "If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things. What's left of them."

Was she trying to bait him into coming with her, now? Jace could feel the corner of his lip crook upward into a half-cocked grin. "Down the rabbit hole," he said, and he could picture it then: Clary as a young Alice venturing into an unknown world that was sure to only get stranger for her. "Good idea." _—Wait, does that make me the Mad Hatter? _Clearing the thought with a slight jerk of his head, Jace stood; grabbing up the blades as he went. "If we go right now, we should have another three, four hours of daylight."

They had just started for the door when he heard Alec call out, "Do you want me to come with you?" but Jace didn't turn around. Partly because they were losing time, and mostly because he didn't want to see Alec's face when he responded.

"No, that's alright. Clary and I can handle this on our own."

As the door shut behind them, Jace swiftly made his way down the hall with Clary half-jogging behind him to keep up. "Have you got your house key?" he asked as he turned down another corridor. Had he even locked up when he carried her out of there the first time?

"Yeah," Her voice floated up from behind him.

"Good," he said. "Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did."

"If you say so."

He smiled at her tone, before stopping suddenly at the black gate in front of them. Darting his hand forward, he pushed the button on the side and waited as the elevator clanged and rattled it's way up to them.

"Jace?" he heard her whisper, the hair on his arms raising. He turned to look at her. She was playing with one of her curls again, and he realized that it was a nervous tick. It was endearing.

"Yeah?"

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek just as the elevator arrived, saving him from an immediate answer. Unlatching the gate and sliding it open, he stepped back and allowed Clary to enter first—the way a gentleman _should. _He hoped that maybe she would forget she asked, but upon looking at her expectant face, he knew that idea was a no-go. He sighed quietly, stepping in beside her and turning to latch the gate. He decided to go with the truth. She knew everything else now, no sense in hiding this.

"I guessed," he said after the gate was secure. "It seemed like the most likely explanation."

"You guessed?" Her eyebrows raised as she looked up at him, though her voice held neither shock nor anger. "You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

She turned away from Jace as he reached forward to press the button on the wall, and the elevator groaned in protest before beginning its descent. He wanted to say it was more than just a guess. He had been nearly positive of what she was. "I was ninety percent sure."

"I see."

She had said it in such a contemplative whisper, that Jace couldn't help but to look at her questioningly. And then he was wheeling back on his heels as her hand struck his face with resounding force. His eyes flew wide and disbelieving—his hand on his cheek—as she turned to stare to the front again as if she had done nothing more than merely asked for the time. The shock was worse than the first time she had attacked him. _And what was her issue with his face?_ "What the hell was that for?" he demanded when he finally found his voice.

"The other ten percent." She said it neither snarky nor angry. It was merely a fact.

Suddenly Jace wanted to kiss her more than he had ever wanted to kiss anyone before. He wanted to throw her against the rails of the elevator, pin her there with his body, hitch her leg up around his waist, and crush his lips to hers with an urgency and fierceness he didn't even realize he possessed. Lowering his hand slowly, he clenched his fists at his sides and locked down hard on his jaw. He had never realized just how hot this elevator could get.

Jace and Clary had not spoken since she slapped him. He had merely grabbed his jacket as they walked out of the door to the Institute in silence, and now—on the train to Brooklyn, Jace was still unsure of what to say to her. He wasn't necessarily mad at her anymore—though he wasn't sure that he had ever really been. He also still couldn't imagine what it was about his face that seemed to draw violence toward it. Perhaps he just had that effect on women. _Not women—_he amended. _Woman. One woman._ _Clary_. How she unsettled him. He could still feel the slight sting on his cheek, and could only imagine the red welt that it contained. A small hand shaped welt that could fit Clary's delicate fingers and palm. _He could have pressed his own palms against hers after he had pinned_—_Stop! _He had not been able to look at her since visualizing the passionate embrace that he had so desperately wanted to act out, the last thing he needed to do was continue to think about it!

Casting a side-long glance at her—and felt his stomach tighten as he realized that she was staring blatantly at him, her eyes curiously roving his features with . . . was that appreciation? He watched with building amusement as she continued on, somehow unaware that he was staring right back at her. When she finally met his gaze, her eyes widened with surprise and a blush painted her cheeks. His brow cocked upward at her expression of embarrassment, a half smile tugging at his lips. "Can I help you with something?"

"Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you," she said immediately, her blush darkening. He also noted an undercurrent of displeasure in her tone.

His smile widened as he casually glanced to the girls in question, and found that she was right. But then, "Of course they are," he said unsurprised but not displeased as he smiled at Clary. "I am stunningly attractive." It was because of this that he usually glamoured himself, despite the pain in the ass that it sometimes was. And he wouldn't say he was vain so much as—brutally aware of his good looks and amazing abilities. His eye for detail and—Oh! Conceited!—That word would also work. He smiled again at Clary, seeing the annoyed look on her face.

Clary threw a look of contempt at the girls, but it was so quick that had Jace not been watching her, he would have missed it. He found this both interesting and confusing. Wasn't this the same girl who had tried to mutilate his face twice now?

"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?" she asked, looking back at him. Jace noticed that she had smoothed over her features now.

_Why, yes I have! But— _"Only from ugly people," he truthfully confided. He could see the unamused expression on her face, but he couldn't help but to just be happy that they were speaking again. "The meek may inherit the earth," he continued with a grin. "But at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me." Yes! He knew that had been a good word. Turning, he winked at the girls across from them and heard them giggle as he immediately glanced at Clary to see her response.

She sighed. "How come they can see you?"

She sounded as if she were trying to hide her annoyance—as if she wished that they couldn't see him. Jace wasn't sure how to take that, so he told the truth. "Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother."

Clary said nothing to this, and Jace watched with amusement as she sat back and crossed her arms, refusing to look at him.

His mood had certainly improved since the train ride. It wasn't the girls that had him humming, nor they're annoying giggling and waving. It was Clary. The way she had glared at the girls on the train had left him amused, but it wasn't until she inched closer to him that he had fully allowed himself to entertain the thought of the idea of them together. He wasn't sure whether she had done it on purpose, trying to make a statement—or just an absentminded gesture, like when she tugged on her curls. Either way, he liked it.

As they walked, he began to flip one of his seraph blades back and forth between his hands and across his knuckles. He was still humming an unknown tune, though if he had to give it a title, he might have went with, 'An Ode to My Nefarious Loins.' He nearly laughed out loud.

"Do you have to that?" Clary asked. "It's annoying."

Jace hummed louder, glancing at her with a sly smile as he did so.

"I'm sorry I smacked you," she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

At this, Jace's humming died in his throat. He looked at her speculatively, deciding whether she was being facetious or not. She wasn't. This was ridiculous. She really didn't need to apologize. Besides, he had been in such a good mood. "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec." he smiled. "He would have hit you back." He had meant it as a joke, but a small part of him thought that Alec probably really would hit her back.

"He seems to be itching for the chance," Clary said. Jace slowed his steps to fall into stride with her as she kicked at a tin can. He said nothing though. It would be foolish to think that she hadn't noticed Alec's dislike for her. She looked up at him. "What was it Alec called you? Para-something."

"_Parabatai," _He said automatically. "It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers." Seeing the confused look on her face, he went on. "Alec is more than just my best friend. My father and his father were _parabatai_ when they were young. His father was my godfather—that's why I live with them. They're my adopted family."

"But your last name isn't Lightwood."

"No," Jace's voice trailed off as they came to a stop in front of the brownstone apartment. From the outside it sat just as unchanged as ever. The hedges that he and Clary had hid behind were undisturbed. Even one of the windows upstairs that Jace had sworn should have been broken was gleaming merrily with the sun's reflection. In fact, no one would ever be able to tell that a demon had been here. But he also knew that it wasn't what was on the outside that mattered, but within. He looked down at Clary, who was staring out at the street.

"It looks the same," Clary said, speaking his thoughts.

"On the outside." He conceded as he pulled a Sensor from his pocket and twisted one of the dials. He had grabbed it while in the Weapon's room with Alec.

"So that's a Sensor?" Clary asked, looking at it with interest. "What does it do?"

"It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Demon shortwave?" She asked surprised.

Jace smiled. "Something like that."

Holding the sensor out in front of him as he approached the house, he watched it carefully. Its steady clicking searching the area as they went. It didn't seem to be finding anything, but Jace was still weary. He trusted his instinct more than he trusted a piece of electronic equipment. It continued this way up the stone steps when the clicking suddenly stopped, and Jace saw the needle hop lightly. He frowned, tensing up as he did so—a habit every Shadowhunter had. He glanced at the door in front of them, his frown deepening. He couldn't remember claw marks having been gouged into the door the last time he was here. In fact, he knew that there hadn't been. Besides, a Ravener wouldn't have done this.

"It's picking up trace activity," Jace began, looking back down at the Sensor. "But that could just be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now." And yet, he still felt as if something was off.

"Good" Clary breathed behind him, and Jace could hear the tremble in her voice.

He watched as she bent down to untie the key from her shoe, pausing only momentarily, before she was standing back up. Reaching up, she tugged on one of her long curls—the only sign of her nervousness. She looked ready to push the door in front of her open, but Jace reached forward and cupped his hand tentatively around her arm, stopping her. He knew when to be a gentleman, but he also knew when to be a Shadowhunter. And there was no fucking way he was letting her go in ahead of him, unarmed and untrained. Even if she _was_ armed and trained. . .

"I'll go first." He said when she looked up at him. And he didn't wait to see if she would argue as he moved in front of her to push open the door with one hand, while waving her in behind him with the Sensor he still held in his other. Standing in the entryway, Jace watched as Clary shut the door behind them. Without the light from the outside sun or the bulb that was out overhead, the were left in the dim glow from the dirty sunroof. Something on the banister caught his eye and he quickly made his way to the stairs. He frowned looking down at the dark stain that almost could have looked apart of it in the gloom. He ran his hand along the slender wood and then looked at the dark red, wet stain. He looked up at Clary, and saw her watching him. "Blood." he explained grimly.

"Maybe its mine," she practically squeaked, terror clear in her tone. "From the other night.

Jace stood there, torn between pulling her into his chest and calming her fears; and continuing their investigation. He knew why she wanted so badly to believe it was her blood—if it was hers, then it _wasn't_ her mom's. Jace bit on his cheek before responding. "It would be dry by now." And he saw Clary nod as if what he said made the most logical sense, but her chin quivered. "Come on." he said, not unkindly.

As he made his way up the stairs, Jace could feel Clary brushing lightly against his back as she stayed close to him. He bit back on his smile, pleased with the idea that she felt safe with him. At the top of the stairs Clary fumbled with her keys. Coming up from behind, Jace leaned over her shoulder—something easily accomplished as she was very short, and she fumbled the keys again. He could feel the heat coming of her body, and smell the lavender soap in her hair as her trembling fingers searched for the correct key again. After nearly dropping them a third time, he sighed. He was about ready to pluck them from her hands and do it himself.

"Don't breath down my neck," she hissed, as if hearing his impatience. Maybe she could, he mused. Finally—and much to Jace's relief—she managed to get it on the fourth try. Reaching forward, he pulled her to face him.

"I'll go in first," he said, repeating his words from outside. He saw the brief hesitation in her eyes, but luckily she stepped away from the door before he had to do something drastic like pick her up and move her. Just as before, there was no way he was letting her go in before him. Especially not here, where the sensor was picking up activity. He didn't care how faint it was.

Again, he felt her lightly brushing against him as they moved slowly into the entryway and down the short hall, he watched the Sensor as they went—the needle still moving lightly, but not enough to cause worry. Walking into the living room, Jace was surprised to see that everything was gone—from the broken furniture right down to the tattered curtains. The walls and floors had also been repaired. Tucking away the Sensor, he pulled out one of his seraph blade instead. Clary moved toward the kitchen and Jace quickened his steps in order to pace her, his eyes narrowing as she passed over the spot where he had found her and the Ravener.

In the Kitchen all the cabinets hung open, showing the bare cupboards within. Jace had heard of demons cleaning up after their messes, but this was overkill. Usually they just returned furniture to its original state, patched up a few holes, and called it a day. This—this was a complete gut job!

"What would demons," Clary began with sudden indignation, "want with our microwave?"

Jace would have found her question funny, if it hadn't been so odd. "I don't know," he said frowning. "but I'm not sensing any demonic presence right now. I'd say they're long gone." He watched as she looked around the empty complex, beginning to feel frustrated. It had all been for naught—everything. They didn't even seem to have a starting point now. Whoever did this, wanted to make sure that they, nor Clary's mother, were found. "Are you satisfied?" Jace asked annoyed. "There's nothing here."

Either Clary hadn't heard his tone of voice, or she just didn't care. She looked at him and shook her head. "I want to see my room."

Jace stared at her. Of course she wanted to see her room! Why wouldn't she want to see her room? It was going to look just as empty as these other rooms, but sure why not. "If that's what it takes," he said stiffly, sliding his seraph blade back in his pocket. Jace let Clary take the lead this time, as she knew the unlit halls better than he did, though he wasn't far behind her. Finding her room, he moved to Clary's side just as she took the knob in her hand. Jace looked at her quickly, his mind racing, as he heard a low hiss of surprise escape her lips. All the doors were open . . . all of them. All of them except Clary's.

With an ear shattering crack, the door blew outward and he was sent flying backwards. Time slowed down, then. With a light spin, Jace managed to turn himself with the wind, keeping himself upright as he threw out his arms to brace himself against the wall opposite of him. With the amount of force he hit it with, he was surprised he didn't go through it. From the corner of his eye, he saw something crash into the wall.

_Clary!_

And he watched as she ricocheted off the wall and onto the ground, sending terror shooting down his spine. _Not her. Not again._ Flipping himself so that his back was against the wall now, Jace gasped in surprise as a very large man filled the doorway carrying a very large ax. Not a man—a Forsaken. He immediately began pulling the seraph blade from his pocket. From this peripheral, he saw Clary pushing herself up to her knees at the same time that the Forsaken stumbled into the hallway—cutting them off from each other. Jace bit back his revulsion upon seeing the thing up close. The matted hair, caked with blood and dirt, the black Marks that painted his face, the red eyes that were pocked with blistering pus filled boils; and the pasty, sagging, flesh. This one seemed to have had his mouth bashed in as well. These things were never very pretty. Just once, Jace thought it might be nice to see a pretty Forsaken—just to change things up.

Finally freeing the seraph blade, he ran his thumb over the rune calling out, "Sansanvi!" and then watched as the long sharp blade glowed to life in his hands, flashing before his eyes as a peaceful calm settled over him. He could hear his heartbeat counting his pace. He smiled. The monster blinked its grotesque eyes at the blade, and Jace didn't hesitate to use his distraction to dart forward and slash at its chest. It roared as is stumbled backwards, but Jace was already moving again—this time twirling around the creature and racing toward Clary. Grabbing her arm roughly—he pulled her to her feet and begin pushing her hastily down the hall. He was thankful that this was one of those moments where she didn't need to be told twice. As they ran, Jace could hear the Forsaken giant pounding after them, the ground shaking with each lumbering step it took. Clary cleared the front door first, followed closely by Jace. Whipping around on the landing, he slammed the door shut and heard the instantaneous click of the lock just as something immense struck it from the other side.

Jace took a step back, his heart still pacing his movements as he glanced at Clary. She had started backing away to the stairs, but stopped as he met her gaze. What was she doing? "Get downstairs! Get out of the—"

Another blow drowned out his words. Time slowed to a near standstill as Jace watched the hinges fly off the door in slow motion. With lightning speed, Jace flew to the side, tucking his body in and tumbling past Clary before popping to his feet at the top of the stairs—his blade ready in his hand. And then, as if someone had hit the fast forward button, everything sped up and the door flew from the frame with a resounding crack. Clary, who was now standing several feet in front of him, jerked her head to look at him—confusion and terror painting her face.

"You need to get out!" Jace shouted. But his voice was instantly masked by the giant Forsaken barreling out of the door and towards him. Clary threw herself against the wall to prevent getting ran over, and Jace just had time to duck as it swung its heavy axe. He could hear it whistle past his head before it sliced into the banister with a thunk. Popping up with light agility, Jace laughed at the creature, who was trying to tug his ax loose. The monster snarled in rage and abandoned his weapon; lurching at Jace with his heavy swollen fists instead.

With his jaw locked, Jace avoided the monsters fist and then buried the blade in it's shoulder. Letting go of the hilt, he bounced back as the monster swayed, momentarily dazed. To Jace's disappointment, it didn't last long before the Forsaken giant was lurching again, grasping wildly for him. _Shit._ With the stairs behind him, and the giant in front of him, he stepped aside as quickly as he could. Unfortunately it was not quick enough, and the creatures large fist clasped down on him and sent him flying downstairs after him. Jace's body collided hard with the giants as he fell, and he rolled sideways to avoid the sharp tip of the blade that was protruding of its shoulder. Somehow, upon doing so, however, his left arm was snagged beneath their tumbling bodies. He cried out in shock as it bent unnaturally against the stairs. He could hear the accompanying crack of the breaking bone as pain seared up his arm. _Son of a bitch! _Jace's head bounced on one of the stairs now as the giant whirled on top of him, grabbing a fistful of hair. Jace sunk his elbow into its face in response. And however absurdly it was to think it in that moment, Jace couldn't help but to wonder if this was the longest it had ever taken someone to fall down a flight of stairs. Then with a flip and a thunk, Jace's head bounced hard on the floor as the creature landed on top of him. Everything went white.

"Jace?"

His whispered name on her lips brought him back.

Opening his eyes, he saw Clary kneeling over him, her hair hanging around her face like a crimson curtain; her gaze anxiously watching his. Was that concern? He would have asked if everything hadn't rushed back at him right then. "Is it dead?" he asked suddenly.

"Almost," Clary whispered, looking back at the monster.

Jace realized then that he was pinned to the ground, the Forsaken shuddering across his legs, and his broken arm wedged painfully behind him. This was not happening. Couldn't the thing just have died? "Hell," he said wincing as he tried to sit up and failed. He wasn't going to get very far with a broken arm and the twitching rhino impeding his progress. "My legs—"

"Hold still."

He watched as Clary crawled around to his head, and gently slipped her hands under his arms. He had to bite down as hot pain seared down the broken one at her touch. She began pulling, and he could feel her hot breath against his ear as she went. He had imagined what it might be like to have her hold him. He wasn't sure this was quite what he had had in mine, however. He grunted with pain as his legs were suddenly freed. When Clary let go, he quickly brought his left arm in to his chest, wincing as he did, and scrambled to his feet.

"Is your arm all right?" She asked getting to her feet.

"No. Broken." It wasn't his his first break, and he was sure it wouldn't be his last, he just hated when it was his main hand or arm. It was so much harder to get things done. "Can you reach into my pocket?" he asked as his eyes fell on the accursed quivering beast.

"Which one?" he heard he whisper.

"Inside jacket, right side," he said. "Take out one of the seraph blades and hand it to me."

As he held still for her, Jace could hear her breath hitch in her throat as she stepped forward, and was surprised to hear her swallow hard as she pulled aside his jacket and slipped her hand into the pocket. He had to admit, that his own heart was racing at her close proximity, but he had not imagined that she might be nervous as well. Because she was looking down, he couldn't see her face but he wondered if a blush painted her cheeks. The corner of his mouth crooked up into a half smile, watching her with amusement. And then she was pulling away, handing him the blade without looking at him.

"Thanks," he said. The moment was gone. Jace's brow furrowed now, his smile slipping away as he looked down at the blade in his hand, his thumb running lightly over the rune. "Sanvi," he whispered. Turning to Clary, he saw her looking at him. But it would be better if she didn't. Not with what he was about to do. "Don't watch," he told her.

Turning to the Forsaken beast, who still lay spasming on its back, he brought the blade down swiftly into its throat. Blood began to bubble up around the dagger, and pool out around its head, spraying Jace's boots. As he let go of the hilt, as a dull pain shot through his aching body, and then seared down his broken arm. Jace choked back on the cry of pain, causing a guttural sound to rumble in his throat. Turning away from the now dead creature, he looked up and saw Clary watching him.

"I told you not to watch," he said without anger. He was hardly surprised.

"I thought it would disappear." She said, her eyes falling on the Forsaken. "Back to it's own dimension—you said."

"I said that's what happens when demons die," Jace corrected, wincing as he shrugged the jacket off his left shoulder. Taking a deep breath against the pain, he continued. "That wasn't a demon." Now reaching for his his stele with his good hand, he removed it from his belt. Looking up, he saw Clary looking at it curiously before meeting his gaze. Did she remember him Marking her? He grinned, biting back on the pain as he did. "This is a stele," he explained and then looking at his left shoulder, he touched it to the permanent Mark there that looked similar to an unfinished star. "And this is what happens when Shadowhunters are wounded." Using his stele, he connected the parts of the star that looked unfinished. When he lowered his hand, the _iratze _shimmered for a moment, before sinking into his skin, leaving the star unconnected once again.

A warm comforting heat slowly made its way down his arm, and Jace sighed with relief as the bones began to mend. Moving his arm in front of him, he slowly brought it to the side and then up and down; clenching and opening his fist.

"That's amazing," Clary said in awe. "How did you—?"

"That was an _iratze_—a healing rune." Jace said with a smile. "Finishing the rune with a stele activates it." Shoving the stele back in his belt, and his jacket back over his shoulder—he couldn't help but to feel buoyant now. He had to admit, he loved being a Shadowhunter. Turning to the dead carcass on the floor, he nudged it with the toe of his boot as if were something interesting to be looked at. "We're going to have to report this to Hodge," he said. "He'll freak out." And then he grinned. Twice, Jace and Clary have come hear, and twice, they were attacked. He wouldn't put it past Hodge to try to put them under house arrest.

"Why will he freak?" Clary asked. "And I get that that thing isn't a demon—that's why the sensor didn't register it, right?"

Jace nodded. "You see the scars all over its face?" he gestured down at the giant.

"Yes"

"Those were made by a stele. Like this one." He tapped his belt where the stele was now secured at, and then he bit the inside of his cheek. _This is what she hit you for, you know, _he reminded himself. But he knew she had the right to know. He just hoped his face lived through it. "You asked me what happens when you carve Marks onto someone who doesn't have Shadowhunter blood. Just one Mark will only burn you, but a lot of Marks, powerful ones? Carved into the flesh of a totally ordinary human being with no trace of Shadowhunter ancestry? You get this," he said jerking his chin toward the creature. He could see the horror in Clary's eyes, but he could not stop now. She asked, and he would tell her the truth. "The runes are agonizingly painful. The Marked ones go insane—the pain drives them out of their minds. They become fierce, mindless killers. The don't sleep or eat unless you make them, and they die, usually quickly. Runes have great power and can be used to do great good—but they can be used for evil. The Forsaken are evil."

Clary's emerald orbs were wide, the terror still plain on her face. "But why would anyone do that to themselves?" she whispered, and Jace had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms.

"Nobody would. It's something that gets done to them," he said in a mixture of disgust and pity. "By a warlock, maybe, some Downworlder gone bad. The Forsaken are loyal to the one who Marked them, and they're fierce killers. The can obey simple commands, too. It's like having a—a slave army." With that, he stepped over the dead beast. "I'm going back upstairs."

Clary's eyes grew wider still. "But there's nothing there."

"There might be more of them," he said. Where there was one, there was usually another, and it was his job to make sure they were dead. And then he stopped, looking at Clary. He wondered if he should even bother—but the idea of her in danger—"You should stay here." Maybe saying it as a suggestion instead of as an order—he just hoped she would listen. He started up the steps.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a piercing voice called out from behind him as neared the top. "There are more of them where the first one came from."

Spinning, he stared down at the old woman he knew as Clary's neighbor in surprise. She was wearing what he could only describe as a purple silk muumuu and enough fake gold to make a costume designer jealous. It was Clary who spoke first though.

"Madame Dorothea?"

The old woman inclined her head as if she were royalty.

Jace only stared. "But. . ." Was this even possible? She was—_is_ a mundane! How could this fake know what could possibly be up there?

"More _what_." he heard Clary ask.

"More Forsaken," she smiled cheerfully, as if this were the most normal thing in the world to be talking about. And then she went on, looking out into the entryway with disapproval. "You have made a mess, haven't you? I'm sure you weren't planning on cleaning up either. Typical."

"But you're a _mundane,"_ Jace said, coming down the stairs quickly, stepping over the dead Forsaken.

"So observant." And he saw her eyes gleam, as if she knew something he didn't. "The Clave really broke the mold with you."

_Did she just— _"You know about the Clave?" He could feel his anger rising as he glared at her. "You knew about them, and you knew there were Forsaken in this house, and you didn't notify them?" He was breathing hard now. Had she told somebody, had she reported it . . . Clary would have never been put in unnecessary danger. The thought caused him to flare up. "Just the existence of Forsaken is a crime against the Covenant—"

"Neither Clave nor Covenant have ever done anything for me," the mundane witch cut him off indignantly, and Jace felt his face flush as rage boiled through him. "I owe them nothing."

And just what was that supposed to mean, Jace wondered. And then they stood there, staring each other down. Jace thought briefly about dragging the woman kicking and screaming upstairs and tossing her in the house, just so she could get a taste of what she did by not reporting a Forsaken to the Clave. The old bat was lucky that he had boundaries. He thought about how Clary could have been hurt. If she knew what was up there now, did she know what awaited Clary that night?

"Jace, stop it," Clary said as if sensing that he was working himself into another tirade. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek at her command, as she turned to the horrible woman. "If you know about the Clave and the Forsaken . . . then maybe you know what happened to my mother?"

But the old woman was already shaking her head, gazing at Clary with pity. Jace wanted to poke the witch in the eye. Not hard enough to damage it—but enough to make it water and sting. Clary never said he couldn't do that. But the time passed, and Dorothea spoke. "My advice to you," she said, with what Jace was sure was supposed to resemble kindness. "is to forget about your mother. She's gone."

Jace's eye widened, his head snapping to Clary as she gasped. "You mean she's dead?" He watched as she took an unsteady step forward. Jace closed the distance between him and Clary swiftly, stopping just behind her. Reaching forward, he gently took her by the elbow to help balance her. He watched her carefully, ready to catch her should he need to. In front of him, he could hear Dorothea sigh hesitantly. "No. I'm sure she's still alive. For now." And Jace wondered if tacking that on at the end was really necessary.

"Then I have to find her," Clary said with urgency. "You understand? I have to find her before—"

But the old crone threw her hand in the air, shaking her head. "I don't want to involve myself in Shadowhunter business."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek again, wondering if Clary would let him chime in yet. The pain in her voice was heartbreaking as she said with near desperation, ""But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—"

"This is an official Clave investigation." Jace said cutting off Clary's anguished pleas. Playing and asking nicely were going to get them no where with this woman. He watched as the mundanes back stiffened at his words, her lips becoming a thin line. Her gaze held a clear disdain for Jace, but he glared back unwavering. "I can always come back with the Silent Brothers." He said, when she still said nothing.

"Oh for the—" Dorothea cried irritably, glancing back at her door and then back to them. She sighed, defeated. "I suppose you might as well come in. I'll tell you what I can." She started toward the door, but then stopped suddenly bringing both Jace and Clary, who had started to follow her, up short. Spinning around, she glared at Jace. "But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you'll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms."

Jace, unfazed, couldn't help himself. "That might be nice, an extra pair of arms. Handy in a fight."

"Not if they're growing out of your. . ." _Oh this will be colorful_, Jace thought as she smiled at him with malice in her eyes. "Neck." she finished.

"Yikes," Jace said almost bored. He had hoped for something more colorful.

"Yikes is right, Jace Wayland,"

Jace's eyes grew wide, his stomach dropping, as he watched the old woman march into her apartment. He didn't understand how she could have possibly—

"Wayland?" Jace heard Clary ask, and he had to pry his eyes away from where the witch had disappeared inside. He met her gaze.

"Its my name," He said, feeling almost as if the witch had unearthed some great secret about him. He looked back up at the open door. "I cant say I like that she knows it."

Clary followed his gaze, frowning. "Still," she said. "I think we might as well try talking to her. What have we got to lose?"

Jace closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. "Once you've spent a bit more time in our world," he opened his eyes, his voice hard. "You wont ask me that again."


	5. Ace of Cups

_**A/N:**__ As promised, I was able to get the chapter posted today, though I have to admit I was worried! Damn work getting in the way! I know this one is shorter than some of my other chapters, but I hope you all like it. Also, I have decided that during my work week, I will try to keep you all posted on when I hope to get future chapters up by writing updates on their progress on my profile page. Thank you again for the amazing reviews! _

* * *

**~Chapter Five~**

**Ace of Cups**

Jace wrinkled his nose as they walked through the apartment. The smell of incense hung heavily in the air—not the most pleasant thing he had ever smelled—granted, it wasn't the worst either. Patchouli maybe? Looking around, he saw that the layout was familiar. All it was missing was a dying demon or a Forsaken charging at him—maybe some broken furniture. He then found himself wondering briefly what it would have been like being in Clary's house before it had been destroyed and then gutted. Something he would never know the answer to. Moving a little further into the room, he saw astrological posters and the like adorned the walls—he would never understand the mundane fascination with all this stuff. Sure, there was truth in reading the stars, but Jace also knew that that knowledge was not one easily learned. Usually it was warlocks who learned the secret to that art, as they were immortal.

Walking along the shelves of books, Jace saw titles such as: _Astrology for the Soul _and _Awakening Your Psychic Powers._ Jace scoffed. At the sound of the bead curtain nearby rattling—what was it with mundanes and bead curtains? Surely they knew that no real witch or warlock used them, right?—Jace saw Dorothea stick her head through, her eyes on Clary.

"Interested in Chiromancy? She asked. "Or just nosy?"

Jace looked at Clary, who was turning away from a poster about palm reading to look at Dorothea. "Neither," she said. And then asked, "Can you really tell fortunes?" Jace, hiding his smile, turned to the shelves again. Clary was so gullible it seemed sometimes. He could hear the old woman answer behind him.

"My mother had a great talent," she spoke proudly. "She could see a man's fortune in his hand or the leaves at the bottom of his teacup. She taught me some of her tricks." Jace turned to look at her, and then at Clary—who was listening with keen interest. Jace, on the other hand, had to refrain from pointing out that an old bat teaching her daughter how to some day be an old bat, did not make her magical. But—he frowned. That still didn't explain how she knows about the Clave. Or how she knew his name. "Speaking of tea, young man, would you like some?"

"What?" Dorothea was looking at him, catching him off guard. Had he called her an old bat out loud?

"Tea." She repeated with a hint of a smile. "I find it both settles the stomach and concentrates the mind. Wonderful drink, tea."

Before he could answer, Clary stepped forward. "I'll have some tea." and then he noticed her flush slightly as if she had yelled out an answer without being called on. The corners of Jace's mouth turned up slightly as he watched her.

As he brought his eyes back to Dorothea, he realized that the woman was still waiting for an answer, he sighed. "All right. As long as it isn't Earl Grey." Even as he said it, he could taste it's phantom favor in his mouth. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I hate bergamot."

With her eyes sparkling, the old crone cackled loudly and disappeared behind the rustling of the bead curtain again. She really was an odd duck—but a duck all the same, he thought as his eyes narrowed. And those bastards just couldn't be trusted. He turned back to the book shelf.

"You hate bergamot?"

Jace cast a glance at Clary, who was looking him with amusement. "You have a problem with that?" He failed to see how his fruit preferences would interest her—or whether he cared for the oil that was derived from it.

She shrugged. "You may be the only guy my age I've ever met who knows what bergamot is, much less that it's in Earl Grey tea."

"Yes, well," Jace nearly snorted. As if the boys her age could even compare to his brilliance. "I'm not like other guys." Reaching up, he flipped _'Magical Herbs and Where to Find Them' _off the shelf and opened through it, he wondered if it wasn't the same one from that Harry Potter movie. If he remembered correctly, some giant sent it to attack the whiney "wizard" kid. But then, it had been awhile since Isabelle had made him watch it, so he didn't know if he was remembering it correctly. What he did know was that she still hadn't forgiven him and Alec for throwing stuff at each other shouting _"Expel your arms!" _during it. He looked up to see Clary still watching him. Was she still on about the bergamot? He sighed. "At the Institute we have to take classes in basic medicinal uses for plants. It's required."

"I figured all your classes were stuff like Slaughter 101 and Beheading for Beginners," Clary said flippantly.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Fray."

"Don't call me that." She said suddenly, as if she had been offended.

Jace looked up surprised. "Why not?" He hadn't realized it would bother her so. And then he frowned. "It's your last name, isn't it?"

He watched as her cheeks turned suddenly crimson, and she reached up to absentmindedly pull on one of her long soft curls. "No reason."

_Ah_. This must be something that she shares with someone else. "I see." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but it was hard as _Simon_ suddenly wedged himself into his thoughts. Snapping the book closed, he tossed it back on the shelf irritably. He hated the mundane. He glared at the other crap on the shelf. Stones and crystals, feathers and—he didn't even _want_ to know what that was. Not to mention all the ridiculous books. "This must be the trash she keeps up front to impress credible mundanes," he said, appalled that anyone would go through so much trouble. "There's not one serious text here."

"Just because its not the kind of magic you do—"

But Jace was already whirling on her and she fell silent as he glared at her angrily. The kind of magic _I_ do? Had she really just suggested that— "_I_ _do not do magic."_ Had she not heard anything they had talked about earlier? What part of the eel-rubber duckie scenario had she not understood? "Get it through your head: Human beings are not magic users. It's part of what makes them human. Witches and warlocks can only use magic because they have demon blood."

Clary was silent for a moment before insisting, "But I've seen you use magic. You use enchanted weapons—"

"I use tools that are magical," he cut her off again. "And just to be able to do that, I have to undergo rigorous training. The rune tattoos on my skin protect me too. If you tried to use one of the seraph blades, for instance, it'd probably burn your skin, maybe kill you."

"What if I got the tattoos," Clary asked. "Could I use them then?"

"No," Jace snapped. He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't like the idea of Clary in danger as it was, so to ask him about using weapons? He tried to picture it: Clary with Marks on her, a seraph blade in her hands. Strangely it wasn't hard to picture at all. He still didn't like it though. "The Marks are only part of it. There are tests, ordeals, levels of training—" _By the Angel, _was she _seriously_ looking at him with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes right now? He frowned. "Look, just forget it, okay? Stay away from my blades. In fact, don't touch any of my weapons without my permission."

"Well there goes my plans for for selling them on ebay," she muttered dryly.

"Selling them on _what?" _What the hell was an e-bay? And why in the Angel's name would she try to sell his stuff there?

Clary stared at him. "A mythical place of great magical power."

Jace stared at her, unable to read her face. Finally he shrugged, pretty sure she had meant it sarcastically. "Most myths are true," he said before adding, "at least in part." He thought of her lying in the infirmary bed, dreaming but unable to wake; and the light fleeting kiss he had given her.

"I'm starting to get that." She said, but he didn't think she did. She would never know that she was his real life Sleeping Beauty, and he—well, he was far from being a Prince—but he _was_ charming. Holding her gaze, he wondered what she would say if he told her. Wondered what she would have done if he had acted on his impulses in the elevator. The rustling of the beads tore Clary's gaze away from his then as she looked to Dorothea sticking her head out.

"Tea's on the table," she said looking back and forth at them. "There's no need for you two to keep standing there like Donkeys. Come into the parlor."

"There's a parlor?" Clary's brow lifted as she asked, and Jace nearly laughed.

"Of course there's a parlor," said the crone as if this should have been obvious. "Where else would I entertain?"

Jace thought then of the old black and white films he had seen, where guests are always being led to a sitting room by a servant. And then he thought of the manor in Idris. It had had a parlor. He smiled at the memory. "I'll just leave my hat with the footman," Jace said jokingly.

But Dorothea glared at him in return. "If you were half as funny as you thought you were, my boy, you'd be twice as funny as you are." Before he could comment, she had turned back through the curtain; the beads sounding like falling rain as they fell in her wake.

He frowned looking after her. "I'm not quite sure what she meant by that." Was she saying that he was not funny? Because he _knew_ that wasn't true.

"Really," Clary said rounding on him. "It made perfect sense to me." And Jace watched as she, too, marched through the curtains.

_What the hell did I do?_ Sighing, he threw his arms in the air and followed—nearly knocking into Clary who had stopped just on the other side. She was staring around the room curiously. When Jace looked up, his eyes immediately landed on the black velvet curtain that covered the entire left wall. As there were two large windows that looked out at the street, curtains would hardly have been notable as anything of importance—to a mundane, at least. But to a Shadowhunter? Jace couldn't help but notice that it covered the large space of wall that separated the two windows as well. His eyes narrowed. Taking a quick inventory of the rest of the room, he finally made to sit in the grotesquely pink arm chair next to Clary's.

"Wow." He heard her say. "This looks great."

The table in front of them held the tea, a platter of sandwiches, and—jace snickered—a crystal ball and tarot cards. He picked up the platter of tiny sandwiches, inspecting it, at the same time that he heard Dorothea offer Clary tea. Each small baguette sandwich had been spread with something white, but whatever else was in it he couldn't see hidden between the bread slices. This worried him. He wouldn't put it past the old bat to hide bergamot in it just to spite him. With a shrug, figuring that he could spit it out if she had, he took one and set the plate down. He could feel Clary's eyes on him as he took a bite.

Of course. Well at least there wasn't bergamot hidden in it, he thought with a shrug. "Cucumber." He said in way of an answer to Clary's unasked question.

"I always think cucumber sandwiches are just the thing for tea, don't you?" Dorothea said airily as she took her seat opposite of them after having poured them their tea.

Sure, if you didn't detest the flavor of them. "I hate cucumber." He said flatly, handing what was left of his sandwich to Clary. And then he froze. Had he really just handed her his half eaten food? But she was already biting into it. She hadn't even hesitated—as if him handing her half-eaten food was something she was quite used to. How could they be so comfortable with each other, and yet so . . . he shook his head. He couldn't explain it.

Reaching forward, he picked up his tea. Dorothea hadn't offered him any milk or sugar, but he didn't mind. He preferred it this way. He wondered if she was going to try to read the leaves he could see swirling at the bottom of his mug. She had said her mother had taught her her tricks. That had been the word she had used, _tricks,_ but real magic didn't require tricks. There was no slight of hand. Hell some warlocks didn't have hands, but claws or wings. The mark of who they were. Looking at the woman in front of him, he saw no discernible marks.

"Cucumbers and bergamot," Clary mused, having finished the sandwich. "Is there anything else you hate that I ought to know about?"

Jace looked at the fraud across from them as he brought his tea to his lips. No marks, no real magical ability that he had seen—and yet, she knew who he was. She knew of the Clave. And he knew there was something she wasn't telling them. "Liars."

Dorothea barely batted an eye at this. Setting down the teapot, she looked at Jace calmly but he saw there was a defiance in her gaze. "You can call me a liar all you like." She said as she sat back starring at him. "It's true, I'm not a witch. But my mother was."

The tea that Jace had just taken a drink of caught in his throat, the heat scalding, as he choked in surprise at her words. _Bullshit!_ He wanted to yell. Did she really think him that stupid? Leveling his gaze at her, he said, "That's impossible."

"Why Impossible?" Clary asked with such an innocent curiosity, that Jace couldn't help but to sigh. He forgot just how much she didn't know about their world.

"Because they're half human, half demon." He explained, not looking away from Dorothea. Maybe a reminder would do her well too, so that she could save herself from trying to lie to him in the future. Or insult his intelligence by assuming he wouldn't have known this. "All witches and warlocks are crossbreeds. And because they're crossbreeds, they can't have children. They're sterile."

"Like mules," Clary mused. Like_ what?_ Jace looked at her, his mouth twitching with a hint of a smile as she caught him off guard. Had she really just compared a warlock to a mule? As Clary met his gaze, he cocked a brow quizzically. "Mules are sterile crossbreeds." She explained hastily.

Jace shook his head. "Your knowledge of livestock is astounding." _As is your timing, _He tacked on silently before continuing. "All Downworlders are in some part demon, but only warlocks are the children of demon parents. It's why their powers are the strongest.

"Vampires and werewolves—they're part demon too? And faeries?" Jace saw Dorothea's brows knit together at Clary's question. Jace sighed, knowing they were getting off track—but also knowing that he would answer every question she ever asked him, regardless of whether the timing wasn't the best.

"Vampires and werewolves are the result of diseases brought by demons from their home dimensions." He said looking at Clary now. She was eating another sandwich. "Most demon diseases are deadly to humans, but in these cases they worked strange changes on the effected, without actually killing them. And faeries—"

"Faeries are fallen angels." Dorothea cut him off. Jace looked back at her, his eyes narrowing as she continued. "Cast down out of heaven for their pride."

"That's the legend," Jace said, knowing it well. It wasn't the version that most Shadowhunters went by, however. "It's also said that they're the offspring of demons and angels, which always seemed more likely to me," he added pointedly. "Good and evil, mixing together. Faeries are as beautiful as angels are supposed to be, but they have a lot of mischief and cruelty in them." He thought of Kaelie then. She had definitely been the more mischievous type. He bit his cheek, surprised that he had thought of her. He went on hastily. "And you'll notice most of them avoid midday sun—"

"For the devil has no power except in the dark." Dorothea cut him off. Jace glared at her in response. Whether is was because she had interrupted him, or because she had recited a long held Shadowhunter belief at him, he wasn't sure.

Before Jace could reply, however, Clary—in all her beautiful curiosity—asked, "'Supposed to be'? you mean angel's don't—"

"Enough about angels," Dorothea said suddenly, cutting off Clary with a wave of he hand. While her tone was relatively polite and practical, Jace saw the flash in her eyes. It was gone quickly though, as she met his gaze. "It's true that warlocks can't have children. My mother adopted me because she wanted to make sure there'd be someone to attend this place after she was gone," she gestured to the room they were in. "I don't have to master magic myself. I only have to watch and guard."

"Guard what?" Clary asked before Jace could.

"What indeed?" The crone responded mysteriously.

It was then that Jace saw something along the floor board at the bottom of the black velvet curtain. He wasn't sure if he was seeing it correctly though. He couldn't be. He had been outside, he knew there was only wall that sat between the two bay windows.

"It's good to see a young woman eat her fill." Dorothea chuckled, drawing Jace's attention back to her. He had obviously missed something, as he wasn't sure when they had started talking about eating habits. "In my day, girls were robust, strapping creatures, not twigs like they are nowadays."

Jace bit down on an unkind retort, as Clary mumbled a thanks and set her empty teacup down hastily. Dorothea pounced on it like a cat on a mouse. Jace lifted his brow, bored, as she peered into the cup. She turned it ever so slightly.

"What?" Clary asked, her voice edged with worry. "Did I crack the cup or something?"

"She's reading your tea leaves." Jace barely kept from rolling his eyes as he said it. Noticing the old crone was scowling, however—the cup turning faster in her hands, Jace found himself leaning forward at the same time as Clary. He held his own mug between his hands, his palms pressed against the warm glass.

"Is it bad?" Clary asked, and Jace gave her a sidelong glance at the worry in her tone.

"It is neither bad nor good. It is confusing," she said, as Jace hid a snicker. She didn't want to say, cause she didn't know. This whole thing was ridiculous. "Give me _your_ cup," she suddenly demanded of Jace.

Jace became annoyed. Was she really that determined to try to prove herself? "But I'm not done with my—" And then he was no longer holding his cup. _Y_es—yes she was_ that _ watched with irritation as she dumped his excess tea back into the pot, and then peered intently into his cup with a frown. What was wrong? he wondered. Was he going to get a bad haircut in the future? Or maybe . . . oh no! Not a pimple on his unblemished skin. The horror of it all!

"I see violence in your future," she said suddenly. _No shit, I'm a Shadow hunter. _"A great deal of blood shed by you and others." She continued. "You'll fall in love with the wrong person. Also, you have an enemy."

At this Jace retorted, "Only one? That's good news." But his heart was hammering. He knew better than to let a mundane hedge-witch get to him. Just because her mother might have been a real witch, didn't mean that this old bat was. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder what she meant by stating that he would 'fall in love with the wrong person.' He wasn't _in_ love with anyone right now—except maybe himself. And that could hardly be wrong. All the same, he couldn't help but to glance at Clary as he leaned back.

"There is nothing for me to read here." Dorothea said, and Jace, turning to look at her, saw that she had picked back up Clary's cup. "The images are jumbled, meaningless." She looked up at Clary. "Is there a block in your mind?"

Jace's eyes went wide. Why had he not thought of that? Clary, on the other hand only sounded confused. "A what?" she asked.

"Like a spell that might conceal a memory, or might have blocked out your Sight." Dorothea explained.

"No, of course not." Clary said, shaking her head. But Jace was already leaning forward, looking at Clary curiously. What Dorothea spoke about made perfect sense.

"Don't be so hasty," he said before turning to Dorothea. "Its true that she claims not to remember ever having had the Sight before this week. Maybe—"

"Maybe Im just a late developer," Clary snapped at him. Jace turned slowly to look at her. Did she always have to be so defensive? "And don't _leer _at me, just because I said that." She added.

"I wasn't going to." He said, looking at her as if she had slapped him. _Not now anyway,_ he thought.

"You were working up to a leer, I could tell." She insisted.

Jace chewed on the inside of his cheek. Was he really that readable? "Maybe," he admitted, and the corner of her lip quirked up into a faint humorous smile. "But that doesn't mean I'm not right." He continued, wiping the smile off her face. And he didn't even have to _leer_. "Somethings blocking your memories, I'm almost sure of it."

"Very well," Dorothea said. "Let's try something else." She put down Clary's cup, reaching instead for the tarot cards that lay nearby on the table. Removing their silk-wrap, she fanned them out and then held them towards Clary. Jace was suddenly reminded of those old mundane magicians shouting _"Pick a card! Any card!" _to their audience members. "Slide your hands over these until you touch one that feels hot or cold, or seems to cling to your fingers. Then draw that one and show it to me.

Clary sat up straight, immediately stretching her hands over them. Jace watched, slightly intrigued and slightly skeptical of the mundane witch. She had already admitted that she had no magical ability, so what the hell was this supposed to accomplish? But it didn't seem that any of the cards were catching or clinging, and he saw Clary's brow furrow as she made her third pass over them. And then she plucked one out of the pack, almost seemingly at random. He would have to ask her later if it had felt warm to her. Or if the old bat was just full of shit, like he thought.

"The Ace of Cups," Dorothea said with unhidden amusement, her eyes flashing to Jace so fast that he almost wasn't sure she had done it. "The love card."

Jace cocked his brow as Clary turned the card over. He could just see it, and sure enough it was a hand holding a golden cup with rubies while rays of sun beat down on it. _That_ was supposed to symbolize love? Rolling his eyes, his eyes fell back on the black velvet curtain again. And there, just as before, was the bottom of what looked like a doorframe. He frowned.

"This is a good card, right?" Jace heard Clary ask, her voice strange to him. When he looked at her, he saw the smallest trace of a blush on her cheek.

"Not necessarily," Dorothea said, her gleaming eyes passing back and forth between the two of them. "The most terrible things men do, they do in the name of love—but it is a powerful card. What does it mean to you?"

Clary dropped the card on the table then. "That my mother painted it." Jace frowned, looking down at the card. How could she possibly know that? And if she had, what the hell was this old bat doing with them? "She did, didn't she?" Clary pressed. But Dorothea didn't look the least bit taken back that Clary was suggesting this. Instead, she was smiling and nodding. And Jace glared at her.

"She painted the whole pack. A gift for me."

"So you say," he was now on his feet as anger flooded him. A gift? If this woman and Clary's mother had been close enough to give each other gifts, then why had she not said something sooner? "How well did you know Clary's mother?"

"Jace, you don't have to—" Clary began as if she was going to scold him. But Dorothea was already cutting her off.

"Jocelyn knew what I was, and I knew what she was." Jace began to wonder, then. What was she? His stomach tightened as he cast a quick glance down at Clary, who was enraptured with what Dorothea was saying. "We didn't talk about it much," she continued. "Sometimes she did favors for me—like painting the this pack of cards—and in return I'd tell her the occasional piece of Downworld gossip. There was a name she asked me to keep an ear out for, and I did."

Jace bit down on his cheek as he stared at the old bat. "What name was that?"

"Valentine."

Clary bolted up straight at the name. "But that's—"

"And when you say you knew what Joceleyn was," Jace cut her off, as he thought back to Pandemonium. The demon had said he knew where Valentine was. As had the demon with four breasts—and the demon before that. And now he's hearing that Clary's mother was asking about news on him as well . . . "What do you mean? What was she?"

"Jocelyn was what she was," Dorothea shrugged, looking up at him. "But in her past she'd been like you. A Shadowhunter. One of the Clave."

"No." Clary's voice was so soft that had Jace not been standing next to her, he'd have never heard the one heartbroken word. He looked down at her, his jaw locked at her wide eyes. She was shaking her head with disbelief. For Jace, it had all slid into place in that moment, but for Clary . . . she had been so sure that her mother couldn't be a Shadowhunter.

"It's true," Dorothea said softly—almost pityingly. Jace brittled. "She chose to live in this house precisely because—"

"Because this place is a Sanctuary." Jace stated, glaring at Dorothea. "Isn't it?" The old bat had said that her mother adopted her to protect this place when she was gone. "Your mother was a Control." he went on. "She made this space, hidden, protected—it's a perfect spot for Downworlders on the run to hide out. That's what you do, isn't it? You hide criminals here." And his mind flashed to the hint of a doorframe just peaking out at the bottom of the curtain.

It was Dorothea's turn to get angry. "You _would_ call them that. You're familiar with the motto of the Covenant?"

And Jace said automatically, "_Sed lex dura lex—_The Law is hard, but it is the Law."

"Sometimes the Law is too hard," Dorothea said. "I know the Clave would have taken me away from my mother if they could. You want me to let them do the same to others?"

"So you're a philanthropist." Jace dripped with sarcasm. "I suppose you expect me to believe that Downworlders dont pay you handsomely for the privilege of your Sanctuary?"

And then Dorothea was beaming, her golden molars shining. "We can't all get by on our looks like you."

_Obviously. _Jace thought, unimpressed with her attempts (albeit truthful attempts) of flattery. "I should tell the Clave about you—"

"You can't!" Clary cut him off, jumping to her feet as Dorothea's eyes flashed. She took a step toward him. "You promised."

_What the_—?! "I never promised anything." But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't go to the Clave. And not because he had promised—he hadn't. Of that he was certain. But because Clary had said he couldn't. And then he was angry. Angry at her for the unexplainable control she had over him, angry at Dorothea for playing games, and angry at Jocelyn for lying to her daughter. Turning away from Clary he strode to the wall and ripped aside the velvet hanging, revealing the rest of the metal door he knew would be there. "You want to tell me what this is?" he demanded of Dorothea, but it was Clary who answered.

"It's a door, Jace."

"Shut up," he snapped at her, before glaring back at Dorothea. "It's a portal. Isn't it?" While all Portals functioned the same (think of where you want to go, and it takes you there), they did not all look the same. And this one had been cleverly hidden, indeed. Most people would have never guessed, but then he was not most people.

"It's a five-dimensional door," Dorothea began as she set the tarot cards down. And then, "Dimensions aren't all straight lines, you know," she said to Clary's blank stare before continuing. "There are dips and folds and nooks and crannies all tucked away. It's a bit hard to explain when you've never studied dimensional theory, but, in essence, that door can take you anywhere in this dimension that you want to go. It's—"

"An escape hatch." Jace finished for her. And then to Clary, "That's why your mother wanted to live here. So she could always flee at a moments notice." He knew he was being harsh. Knew that she couldn't possibly know what it was that had him more angry than he should be, but he hadn't been able to stop himself.

"Then why didn't she—" Clary started, but then stopped, her eyes widening in horror. "Because of me," she whispered, and all the anger Jace had been feeling dissipated with those three words. "She wouldn't leave without me that night. So she stayed."

Jace moved toward her—uncertain, really, of what he was doing. But he hated the idea of her thinking this was her fault. Shaking his head, he said, "You cant blame yourself." And then his stomach tightened as tears filled her eyes.

"I want to see where she would have gone," she said suddenly, pushing past Jace and standing in front of the door. He could hardly blame her abruptness with him this time. "I want to see where she was going to escape to—"

"Clary, no!" He cried, trying to reach for her. But it was if everything went into slow motion. Jace saw her hand wrap around the door at the same time that Dorothea jumped to her feet with a cry . . . and then the door opened and she was gone—disappeared through the door that had immediately slammed itself shut. Jace spun instantly on Dorothea, his eyes blazing. As he strode over to her, her own eyes went wide, and she took a step back forgetting that her chair was there and landing in it. Something in his face must have scared her, but he didn't care.

"Where is she?" He demanded in a low growl, looming over her. "Where did she go?"

"I don't—" Dorothea stammered.

"Then figure it out!" Jace yelled. "Or so help me, I will turn you into the Clave. Your things—this house—all of it will be gone, and you will be tried and sent to the Silent City!"

"There might be a way!" She cried at the honesty in his words. "The Portal usually stays open to the place the last person went through, but only for so long. As long as you don't think of anywhere else. . ."

Jace whirled back toward the door stopping to stare at it. He closed his eyes.

"Wait!" Dorothea was next to him now, her voice urgent. Jace waited in silence, cursing the time that was being wasted as the woman spoke. "There will come a time when she will need you to believe her, and you will have to choose whether or not to do so. Choose correctly, Jace Wayland."

He said nothing as she finished and stepped away. Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he could only pray to the angel that this would work.


	6. Through the Looking Glass

**~Chapter Six~**

**Through the Looking Glass**

Jace was falling. It was a peculiar feeling—not knowing where he would end up. He had used a Portal before, but always with a destination in mind. When he had grabbed the handle of this Portal, he had made sure to think of no one particular place, keeping his mind as open as possible. But he couldn't help but to think of Clary. Her wide emerald eyes, her full lips—suddenly the night air was rushing past him, and he could feel leaves and branches hitting his skin. A moment later he had landed. On someone.

He grunted with pain as their foreheads collided, hair flying into his face. He could smell the Lavender in it. _Clary._ One of his knees hit hard packed ground sending a jolt through him, and his other knee hit hers. She coughed as her arm flew up at the same time that his curled around her. He was laying on top of her now, his face pressed into the crook of her neck; her skin smelled of lavender too. His body was pressed against hers in a way that sent heat running through him as his stomach knotted. And then she elbowed him in the ribs in her attempt to get free.

"Ouch," he whispered indignantly into her ear. "You elbowed me."

"Well, you _landed _on me." She said annoyed, but she had stopped trying to get out from under him now, and her hand was resting lightly on his back—though it was probably because she had no where else to put it, Jace reminded himself.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, his arms on either side of her, cradling her head, he looked down at her. "Well, you didn't leave me much choice, did you?" He asked with a trace of amusement. "Not after you decided to leap merrily through the Portal like you were jumping the F train. You're just lucky it didn't dump us out into the East River."

"You didn't have to come after me." Raising her brow, her emerald eyes sparkled.

Is she kidding? "Yes, I did." he said as if she should just know this. Strangely, he got the impression that she _did,_ in fact, know this. But just for good measure, he added, "You're far too inexperienced to protect yourself in a hostile situation without me."

"That's sweet." She smiled up at him and he was suddenly aware of her hand lazily running along his back. Was she doing that on purpose? He could feel her legs tangled with his. "Maybe I'll forgive you."

His brows knitted together. "Forgive me? For what?"

"For telling me to shut up."

He was brought up short by this, his eyes narrowing as he remembered his anger back at Dorothea's. "I did not . . . Well, I did, but you were—" Were what? Doing nothing but being her beautiful and frustrating self? Something that in and of itself seemed to confuse and unsettle him in a way he couldn't understand?

"Never mind." She sighed, pushing herself up off the ground and inadvertently pressing her body harder against his in the process. Surprised, he pushed himself back farther as her face nearly met his. His heart was hammering. Before he could ask what she was doing, she was turning to the side, freeing her arm that Jace had not realized was wedged under her. But she did not lay back down. His heart was still hammering as she looked away from him, her close proximity, her body pressed firmly against his now, causing his stomach to tie into knots.

"I know where we are." Clary said suddenly.

"What?" And he realized that he hadn't even looked around.

"This is Luke's house." she said, but before he could ask more, she was pushing on him in an effort to sit up. Tucking himself in, he rolled fluidly to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. Something he was amused to see her ignore as she struggled to her own feet. _By the Angel, she is stubborn,_ Jace mused silently.

Shrugging, he turned around, still feeling the ghost of her body against his, and looked at the dilapidated gray row house with its chain link fence and a sign that was swinging gently in the breeze that was coming off the East River. "Garroway Books. Fine Used, New, And Out Of Print. Closed Saturdays." he read out loud more to himself than anything. Glancing at the padlock on the front door and the piles of mail on the porch, he turned back to Clary, one brow raised. "He lives in a bookstore?" This was where she had begged this guy to let her come to? This was what was so much better than staying with them back at the Institute? The memory still burning almost as bad as when it had actually happened.

"He lives behind the store." Clary corrected. She was glancing up and down the street. Now that the sun was setting, a glow had been cast around her that lit her up. "Jace?" she said slowly, looking at him now. "How did we get here?"

"Through the Portal," Jace said, turning away to examine the padlock. It was heavy duty, but nothing his stele couldn't handle. He raised a brow. Was this guy really _that_ worried that someone would steal his books? And then he said, "It takes you to whatever place you're thinking of," in way of answering the question he knew she was bound to ask, before she had the chance.

"But I wasn't thinking of here," she protested. "I wasn't thinking of anywhere."

"You must have been." He shrugged. He wasn't really all that concerned about it. He could understand that as she had wanted to be here before, it would be only natural to think of here. But he wasn't going to try to push her into admitting it. "So, since we're here anyway. . ."

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Leave, I guess," Clary said, and Jace noticed the bitterness in her tone. "Luke told me not to come here."

And yet, here they were. Jace remembered that she had called this guy a family friend, but he must be more than that to her. At least she thought so. It was evident in the way she was looking at the place with longing now. A father figure, maybe? He wondered how many great memories she had here that had been crushed by that one phone call. He shook his head. "And you just accept that?"

Clary wrapped her arms around herself. "Do I have a choice?" Her tone was pained.

He looked at her for a moment before saying softly, "We always have choices." And she looked at him as if she wasn't sure. But Jace had already made up his mind. This guy—Luke, was obviously an important person to her. Maybe there was a reason he turned her away, and there was only one way to find out. "If I were you, I'd be pretty curious about Luke right now. Do you have keys to the house?"

Clary looked at him with confusion, before her eyes lit up with comprehension. "No," she said, "But sometimes he leaves the backdoor unlocked." And she pointed toward the alley between this row house and the next. Jace was feeling a slight well of excitement buzzing through his body as Clary looked back up at the house.

"You sure he isn't home?" Jace asked, walking toward the narrow alleyway lined with trashcans and recycling bins. A high chain-link fence sat at the end.

Clary was silent for a moment as her gaze went from the house, to the road, and then stopped at Jace. "Well, his truck's gone, the store's closed and the lights are off. I'd say probably not."

Jace grinned. "Then lead the way."

Clary, giving him a nervous smile, moved forward. She glance quickly up at the house before darting into the alley as if afraid she would be seen by a neighbor. Jace followed, an amused smile on his face. When they reached the chain link fence, Clary stood there staring at him. But Jace was already moving forward, wedging the toe of his boot into a hole in the fence. "Up and over," he smiled, beginning to climb. The fence began to rattle loudly and he had to bite back on his laughter as Clary began to anxiously look around. Was she always this tense? He could offer her a back rub—he gave amazing back rubs. He nearly laughed again at what he could only imagine her expression would be at such a suggestion. She'd probably punch him in the face. Yeah . . . he had had enough of that, so maybe he wouldn't be offering her a back rub after all.

The internal back rub debate would cost him however. After throwing his leg over the top of the fence, he sprang down to the other side—right onto of someone. The resounding wail was enough to cause Jace to cry out with shock and fall backward. For a brief second, he had the absurd thought that he really needed to stop dropping in on people like this. That short-lived amusement vanished after he fell on his ass. In front of him, someone sprinted away. Jumping to his feet, Jace was ready to kill this guy and took off after him—his senses taking over. In the dying light, the figure was almost a shadow as it darted around a corner. But Jace was faster. Shadowhunters were trained and built for endurance. Lunging forward, he tackled the the guy to the ground.

"Got him!" Whoever this guy was; he sucked in a fight. With a small controlled roll upon tackling the intruder, Jace was now sitting on top of him. The guy was trying his best to keep his face covered as he jerked pathetically under Jace's weight. Making a grab for the guy's wrists, he smiled with unkind amusement. "Come on, let's see your face—"

"Get the hell off me, you pretentious asshole," the boy growled as he jerked away and shoved Jace back just enough to work himself halfway up.

"_Simon?"_ Clary cried out.

"Oh, God," Jace's stomach dropped, his jaw locking, as the fight went out of him. He didn't have to look up at Clary to know that she would expect him to let go of the twit. He sighed, resigned to this fact and rolled off of him. Still he couldn't help himself from saying, "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting."

Jace moved away as Clary rushed forward to help Simon up, and then watched as she gently led him to sit on the porch, where she began to fuss tenderly with him. He felt a sudden pang of . . . what was this? He could remember only ever having had a feeling similar to this once, long ago. It had been after he had first come to the Institute and heard Mayrse singing to her children for the first time, passing up his room as she went. But this seemed different almost, because back then, he hadn't wanted to punch anyone in the face like he did now. She was now fixing his glasses and picking leaves and debris off of him. Jace turned away, unable to watch anymore. He heard the boy say something but missed what it was as he sat on the porch railing and pulled out his stele.

"But what were you doing hiding in Luke's bushes?" He heard Clary ask as he began to run his stele along his fingernails—something Hodge hated him doing. "That's the part I don't get."

There was a long pause before Jace heard Simon say with frustration, "All right, that's enough. I can fix my own hair, Fray." and felt his muscles tense. He had had a feeling, so he wasn't surprised to hear the mundane call Clary by her last name, nor was he surprised to hear no protest from her about it, but being right didn't make him like it any better.

Finally Clary asked, "I mean, did Luke know you were there?"

"Of course he didn't know I was there," the mundane said irritably. Jace gave him a quick side-long glance, and saw that he was glaring at him. The dislike evident on his face gave Jace a sense of satisfaction. _It's mutual, you twit._ Focusing on his nails once more, Jace heard the boy continue. "I've never asked him, but I'm sure he has a fairly stringent policy about random teenagers lurking in his shrubbery."

"Your not random; he knows you." Clary said. When Simon said nothing, she went on. "The main thing is that you're all right." Yes, Jace agreed. He was very fortunate he hadn't shove a seraph blade right up his—

"That I'm all right?" Simon laughed a sharp, almost pained sound that caused Jace to turn his head slightly, one brow lifting. From the corner of his eye, he could see the boy looking at Clary now with exasperated disbelief. "Clary, do you have any idea what I've been through this past couple of days? The last time I saw you, you were running out of Java Jones like a bat out of hell—" _Running? Had she actually ran after him that day? _Jace's lips quirked into a half smile. "—and then you just disappeared." _Because she was with me._ "You never picked up your cell—" _Yeah, it broke. _"—then your home phone was disconnected—" _Damn demons and their lack of consideration for teenage mundanes. The audacity._ "—then Luke told me you were off staying with some relatives upstate when I _know_ you don't have any other relatives." Now this intrigued Jace. Why would Luke lie to the boy? If this Luke was a mundane who didn't know anything, why not just tell him that he didn't care, like he had told Clary? "I thought I'd done something to piss you off," Simon finished, sounding wounded. Jace rolled his eyes.

"What could you possibly have done?" She asked gently, confusion ripe in her voice.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Something."

Jace could hear just how much that _"something"_ was. And then it hit him. The mundane thought that Clary had ran away from _him._ That she had actually understood his ridiculous rambling back in the coffee shop, knew he was hopelessly in love with her, and ran for her life. Jace snickered quietly.

"You're my best friend," Clary whispered with a tenderness that caused Jace to bite down hard on his cheek. "I wasn't mad at you."

"Yeah, well, you clearly also couldn't be bothered to call me and tell me you were shacking up with some dyed-blonde wannabe goth you probably met at Pandemonium," Simon said bitterly. "After I spent the past three days wondering if you were _dead."_

Oh, thats really good, Jace thought. Girls loved it when you inadvertently referred to them as being a whore while trying to give them a guilt trip. And had he really suggested that he dyed his hair? Clary seemed to be along the same thoughts.

"I was not shacking up." She stated firmly.

"And my hair is naturally blonde," Jace added. "Just for the record."

"So what have you been doing these past three days, then?" the mundane asked with obvious disbelief in his voice and Jace had the urge to crack him in the jaw in protection of Clary's honor. Somehow he didn't think she would be as grateful as the maidens were in the movies. Simon continued. "Do you really have a great-aunt Matilda who contracted avian flu and needed to be nursed back to health?"

"Did Luke actually say that?" Clary asked surprised.

"No," Simon said dryly. "He just said you had gone to visit a sick relative, and that your phone probably just didn't work out of country. Not that I believed him. After he shooed me off his front porch, I went around the side of the house and looked in the back window. Watched him packing a green duffel bag like he was going away for the weekend. That was when I decided to stick around and keep an eye on things."

"Why? because he was packing a bag?" Clary asked, but Jace grudginly had to give Simon some credit on his intuition—though he was still a dumbass. His brow furrowed in thought at Luke's actions. He had to know something. Be more than what he had originally thought him to be.

"He was packing it full of weapons." Simon said. _Yep definitely something more._ "Knives, a couple daggers, even a sword." Simon continued. "Funny thing is, some of the weapons looked like they were glowing." Jace looked directly at the mundane now. Glowing weapons? Could this Luke be another Shadowhunter? Simon was looking back and forth between Jace and Clary, his eyes defiant. "Now are you going to say I imagined it?"

Clary sighed. "No, I'm not going to say that." And then she glanced at Jace. It was a look that that told him everything she was going to say before she said it. So he wasn't surprised when she said, "I'm going to tell him the truth."

"I know."

"Are you going to try to stop me?"

Try to stop her? There had been a lot of things he had tried to stop her from doing, and had failed because she was too stubborn to listen—or to blatantly piss him off. But this time was different. She wouldn't refuse to listen to him due to stubbornness, but because she truly cared for this mundane—_Simon, _in a way Jace had only now come to realize, but couldn't understand. No. He would not try to stop her. He looked down at the stele in his hand. "My oath to the Covenant binds me." he said. "No such oath binds you." And as she turned her gaze away from him he pressed the stele to his arm.

He heard her take a breath. "All right, here's what you have to know."

And then she was off, telling Simon of what had really happened at Pandemonium, and again at the coffee shop. She winced as she told him about the Ravener she had encountered, and her her time spent at the Institute. After finishing up with what they had learned at Dorothea's and her jump through the Portal, she went silent. They were sitting in complete darkness now—the sun having disappeared completely during Clary's story—granted, had Isabelle been telling it, the sun would be coming again before she finished. Jace also couldn't help but feel that the boys _"have to know" _seemed to be an awful lot. Though there was quite a bit she had left out, too. Like the part where she got poisoned and spent three days unconscious, and the harsh words that Luke had said to her.

"So," Clary said, clearing her throat. "Any questions?"

Jace nearly laughed as Simon raised his hand. "Oh, I've got questions. Several."

"Okay, shoot." Clary said nervously, her fingers reaching up to play lightly with her curls.

And then he pointed at Jace, who raised a brow. "Now he's a—what do you call people like him again?"

_People like me? _He thought indignantly. One of the first things Clary had explained to Simon was who Jace was, so if this was his first stupid question, it was going to make for a long night. But Clary was patient. "He's a Shadowhunter."

"A demon hunter." Jace clarified impatiently, making up for Clary's patience. "I kill demons. It's not that complicated, really."

Simon turned back to Clary again, his eyes narrowed. "For real?"

"For real."

"That is _so awesome._"

Jace was taken back by this, his brows lifting as he stared at Simon. "Awesome?" he repeated. Had he really just said that? But Simon was already nodding his head excitedly as if answering his unasked question as well.

"Totally. It's like Dungeons and Dragons, but _real._" He was exuberant now.

"It's like what?" Jace's brows knitted together as he stared at the mundane, who in turn was looking at him as if his dreams had come true. But as amazing as Jace was, he didn't think that it would work out between them.

"Its a game." Clary answered. "People pretend to be wizards and elves, and they kill monsters and stuff."

Jace stared dumbfounded. Was she joking? But . . . no. No she wasn't. Simon was grinning at him now. "You've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?"

"I've heard of dungeons." Jace said looking to Simon now. "Also dragons. Although they're mostly extinct."

"You've never killed a dragon?" Simon sounded as if he'd been let down and Jace was just plain bewildered at this point. Was he serious?

"He's probably never met a six-foot-tall hot elf-woman in a fur bikini, either," Clary snapped with sudden irritation. "Lay off, Simon."

Elf in a fur bikini? They didn't wear—but neither were they—and they're mean! "Real elves are about eight inches tall," Jace said. "Also, they bite." and his finger twitched as he remembered a long ago memory.

"But Vampires are hot, right?" Simon said, switching tracks. "I mean, some of the vampires are babes, aren't they?"

_Oh, for the love of the Angel, _Jace thought staring at him. Was this kid for real? Six-foot elves and hot vampires? Was that really what got him excited? Did he really think the idea of a vampire stalking him in the night was sexy? But then he found himself strangely thinking about it. The Night Children did have a certain luminous appeal about them, he supposed. Never aging—their skin unblemished with immortality. "Some of them, maybe."

"_Awesome_."

Jace, seeing the look of irritation on Clary's face, jumped lightly to his feet, and faced her. "So are we going to search the house, or not?" He asked, ready to put this whole unpleasantness behind him. Next to him, Simon was getting hurriedly to his feet.

"I'm game," he said. "What are we looking for?"

"We?" Jace asked contemptuously. "I don't remember inviting you along."

_"Jace,"_ Clary snapped, and he cringed inwardly at the look on her face. Apparently she felt differently.

It took just a second for him to compose his features—the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Just joking." What the hell was wrong with him? He was silently grateful that Alec and Isabelle weren't here. He didn't think they would be able to handle a domesticated Jace. The word surprised him. Is that what was happening? He bit the inside of his cheek as he stepped aside and gestured to Clary. "Shall we?"

Clary came forward, and turned the knob. Pushing it open, she triggered the porch light that left them all bathed in dull light before they moved forward. Clary went instantly to a closed door not far from where they stood and tried it. "It's locked."

Next to him, Jace saw Simon take a step forward, and his brow cocked. What the hell did he plan to do—jiggle the door handle harder with his mundane super powers? With a roll of his eyes, he pushed past Simon and placed his hands on Clary's waist, gently turning her away from the door. "Allow me, mundanes." he said. And even in the dimly lit room, Jace saw the scowl on Simon's face as his hands lingered on Clary hip. He couldn't fight his smug smile as he pulled away and got out his stele; placing it to the door.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he?" Jace heard Simon mutter, and his grin widened as the boy continued. "How do you stand him?"

Jace held his breath, waiting for her answer.

"He saved my life."

Clary had not said this with the tone of dutiful requirement—like she _had_ to put up with him, but of whispered astonishment and tenderness that he had never heard her use toward him. His heart began to hammer as his stomach twisted in knots.

"How—"

"Here we go," Jace said suddenly, cutting off Simon's question as the door popped open with the rune. He hadn't been sure at the time why Clary had left out her near death experience, when she talked to Simon earlier, but he realized he liked having something that was just between him and Clary—_and Hodge, Alec, and Isabelle, _a voice in his head reminded him_. _Well . . . something that didn't involve the mundane, anyway.

Clary moved forward first, with Jace quickly wedging himself in behind her to Simons displeasure. They moved slowly as there wasn't much light. Jace could see, they were in the storage room. Cardboard boxes of different sizes and shape took up most of the space. It was stuffy and Jace could smell the musty scent of pages and the sharp metallic smell of iron, maybe?

"The apartment's through here," Clary whispered, as she headed toward a door on the other side of the room.

Jace was suddenly tense. "Wait." Reaching out he caught her by the arm to make sure she stopped. He never knew with her.

"Is something wrong?" She asked nervously, looking around.

But Jace only shook his head, his golden locks falling in his eyes. "I don't know," he said truthfully. Pushing back his hair, he wedged himself between boxes as he maneuvered around them. He had seen something hanging up ahead. And then he saw what it was. Hanging from the wall were manacles. And they looked recently used. He whistled low. "Clary, you might want to come over here and see this." He said as he climbed onto one of the many sealed boxes that sat under them.

From his place up here, he could see her turning in place with confusion. "It's so dark—"

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his witchstone and squeezed it as it came to life, bright light chasing away the shadows. This would be so much easier if he weren't traveling with one mundane and a half mundane. Also if they had applied the same Keen-Sight rune that he had outside, they could have already gotten an idea of what he was seeing. Well, Clary would. Simon would burn and die—or become a Forsaken, in which Jace could kill him. Both had their advantages.

"Ouch" Simon was blinking rapidly against the harshness of the light on his eyes.

Jace laughed as they looked up at him. "Witchlight," he said in answer to her questioning gaze. He saw Simon's lips moving, but had the distinct feeling that he wasn't supposed to hear whatever it was he had said. Clary began to push and wade her way through to him, now. He noticed that Simon moved with almost as much familiarity through the boxes as Clary did, and he frowned. He wasn't sure he liked that. Once she was standing just below him though, he had changed his face into a blank slate and pointed upward. "Look at that."

Clary looked up, paused, and then frowned. "Are those—"

"Manacles," Simon answered before Jace could. He was coming up just behind Clary now. "That's, ah . . ."

"Don't say 'kinky.'" Clary whirled on him. "This is Luke we're talking about."

Jace looked away as Simon grinned down at Clary as if he was thinking about saying just that now. Reaching up, he ran his fingers along the inside of one of the metal loops; his eyes traveling up the chain to the swollen and chipped wall they were bolted to. When he pulled his hand away, he could already see the brownish-red powder that dusted it. He bit the inside of his cheek. When he looked down, Clary was looking up at him with those impossibly bright green eyes that could stop him in his track with a single flash of emerald fires. He had not wanted to show her, but he knew he would now. "Blood. And look." He pointed upward again, but this time it was behind the manacles, to the bulging wall. "Someone tried to yank these things out of the wall. Tried pretty hard, from the looks of it."

"Do you think Luke is all right?" And Jace could hear the worry in her voice. He wanted to pull her into him and tell her yes. Tell her that everything would be okay. But he couldn't do that, because he didn't know.

"I think we'd better find out." He said instead, as he lowered his witchlight and hopped lightly to the ground.

Luckily, the apartment door had been unlocked, and they now stood in the living room. Jace, who had seen vaster and grander libraries, still couldn't help but to be impressed at the sheer number of books that were here in just this small room alone. He walked over to look at some of the shelves curiously. Books had once been his only friends to an outside world he didn't know. And unlike his father, they were neither harsh nor cruel when Jace didn't perform the way he was supposed to. He knew they would still be there, waiting with the promise of adventures and drama, if he made a mistake. His father, on the other hand, would leave for days at a time if Jace got a latin phrase wrong. He remembered how he would practice over and over whatever it was that he had failed; whatever it was that had driven him away—and when his father returned, he would show him. He had known his father had only been trying to teach him, wanting to instill in him the importance of being stringent with studies. He had wanted the best of Jace.

Books wanted nothing but to be read. Some even got the great honor of being loved. A dark shadow stalking forward pulled Jace away from his thoughts. Simon was now standing in the doorway to the kitchenette, and Clary standing in the corner of the room hugging herself. "I think he's still around," called Simon suddenly, and Clary went instantly to his side. "The percolator's on and there's coffee here. Still hot."

She glanced inside, her shoulders stiff, and then she stepped back. Looking around, she said nothing to either of them as she made her way down the hallway, her red curls bouncing on her shoulders as she went. Jace made to go after her.

"I wouldn't do that," Simon said, turning away from the kitchen and leaning against the wall.

"There's a lot you wouldn't do." Jace said cooly.

"I don't know about _that_ . . . but there are some things, yes," Simon said. "Like walk in on Clary—I wouldn't do that." and then he pointed down the hall. "She comes here a lot, both with and without her mom. Has been since she could remember. It's practically her second home. The spare room here is pretty much hers."

"You seem familiar here, too," Jace edged.

"I've been coming here with her since we met," He said smugly. "We're _very_ close."

Jace didn't fail to miss his implied tone. "And yet, in all your closeness, you don't seem to realize that Clary no longer feels at home here." Jace said. "Interesting."

"What do you mean?" Simon snapped, instantly pushing himself off the wall. "Why wouldn't she feel—"

"Please," Jace said holding up his hand to stop him. "A gentleman never reveals a lady's secrets."

"And I'm sure you're just all sorts of _'gentlemanly.'"_ Simon said irritably.

Jace grinned wide. And then he was looking down the hall again. "We're going to need a guard—someone to keep lookout," he said. "And what's beyond that room there? He was pointing to the one near the end of the hall."

"Luke's office." Simon said automatically, looking at the closed door. "It's where he was when he was packing those weapons."

"Well, we'll want to check that out as well then."

Suddenly Simon was looking at Jace, his eyes narrowed and a scowl on his face. Jace only smiled back with amusement. "I know what you're trying—or, at least, _going_ to try to do."

_Oh, I doubt it. _But Jace's smile didn't falter as he stared at Simon. "Beg your pardon?"

"Don't play stupid!" Simon hissed through his teeth. "You plan to leave me out here while you and Clary—"

But Jace was stopping him again. "First, I am hardly stupid. But one such as yourself, would hardly be able to fathom the many depths of my intellect. And secondly, no, I did not plan to leave you out here alone. While I'm fairly sure you can handle a few bags and books . . . well . . . I'll just wait out here in case something worse than a papercut happens."

"Are you saying I couldn't handle it if something happened?" Simon flushed.

"Depends," Jace grinned. "Are we basing this on the stellar combat skills you showed outside?"

"Oh, fuck you." Simon quipped.

"As fuckable as I may be," Jace said, as if letting someone down gently. "It would never work between us. You're just not my type."

Simon glared at him silently, his mouth working. "I can handle whatever comes just as well as you can." He said finally. "I'll wait out here."

"If you insist." Jace shrugged, and then grinned as he started down the hall before Simon could begin to wonder what had just happened.

Pushing open the door to the office, he was not surprised to see even more books. The shelves lined the walls. In one corner sat a rosewood screen and in another was a large desk with the green duffle bag sitting on top of it. Jace quickly moved around the desk and pulled the bag toward him. _Jackpot. _It was as the mundane had said; knives and daggers, an electrum whip similar to Isabelle's, and something else Jace could hardly believe. Carefully he reached in and pulled out the metal disk just as the Clary came in. She had changed into some tan cords and a blue tank top. They looked much better on her. But the fact that she had clothes here forced him to admit that Simon was correct about how she had once felt about this place. She was looking at the object in his hand.

"Its a _chakram,_" he explained holding up the razor-sharp disk. "A Sikh weapon. You whirl it around your index finger before releasing it. They're rare and hard to use. Strange that Luke would have one. They used to be Hodge's weapon of choice, back in the day. Or so he tells me."

Clary was at the desk now, looking down at the stuff Jace had pulled out of the bag. "Luke collects stuff. Art objects. You know," and she gestured at the shelf behind the desk. where Jace had seen the statues and idols when he had come in. "Pretty things."

Setting the _chakram _aside carefully, clothes tumbled out of the untied end of the duffle bag. Something else caught Jace's eye and he picked it up quickly. A broken framed picture of Clary, a pretty woman that looked like her, and a slightly graying gentleman. The picture looked familiar to him, as if he had seen it before. "I think this is yours, by the way." he said handing it to her.

"That _is_ mine," Clary said taking it and looking at it.

"It's cracked," Jace looked at it over her shoulder.

"I know. _I _did that—I smashed it. When I threw it at the Ravener demon." And then he knew where he had seen it. But that would mean. . . What was it Clary had said upon arriving? _'I wasn't thinking of here.'_ He had thought she just hadn't wanted to admit it, but now, he knew she had been telling the truth. Clary seemed to realize what he was thinking. "That means Luke's been back to the apartment since the attack." she said, looking at Jace. "Maybe even today—"

"He must have been the last person to come through the Portal," he said, thinking of what the old bat had told him back at her house. "That's why it took us here. You weren't thinking of anything, so it sent us to the last place it had been."

"Nice of Dorothea to tell us he was there," Clary said bitterly.

But Jace just shrugged. "He probably paid her off to be quiet. Either that or she trusts him more than she trusts us." And as she was a Control—a Downworlder, this didn't bode well for them. He continued slowly, "Which mean he might not be—"

"Guys!" Simon came running into the office like a bat out of hell. "Someone's coming!"

Jace instantly tensed up as Clary dropped the photo on the ground. "Is it Luke? she asked hastily picking it back up.

Simon careful peered back down the hall, and then nodded. "It is, but he's not by himself—there are two men with him."

"Men?" Jace sprung into action, crossing the room and peeking down the hall. "_Fuck." _He spit under his breath before turning to look at Clary, his heart pounding. "Warlocks."

She blinked in surprise. "Warlocks? but—"

She didn't understand. Of course she didn't. Shaking his head he closed the door gently and then backed hurriedly away from it. "Is there some other way out of here? A back door?" Jace was trying to keep the distress out of his voice, but she was already shaking her head as he was asking. They were trapped. _SHIT!_ He could probably kill one, but—if there were two? Not to mention if Luke were a Shadowhunter? They would get Clary—and that was something that truly scared him. He looked at her terrified eyes, and then around the room desperately. They couldn't take her. He would die before—and then he saw the rosewood screen. "Get behind that," he said pointing to it. "_Now."_

Clary tossed the picture on the desk and grabbed Simon before slipping behind the screen. Pulling out his stele, Jace was hot on their heels. He had just positioned himself when the door opened wide. Due to their height, both Jace and Simon had to crouch slightly to keep from being seen over the top. They could hear the voices of the three men as they entered, but Jace wanted to see them—see what they were doing. Reaching forward, he pressed the tip of his stele to the screen and began drawing a kind of a square. Once done, the inside of his rune turned clear like a window. Simon sucked in his breath and Jace knew instantly that he was afraid they would see them. He shook his head at both of them, mouthing: _They can't see through it, but we can see them._ He wanted to add that if the stupid mundane twit could keep from gasping, that'd be great too. Jace knew that it had barely been audible when Simon sucked in his breath, but he needed to realize that they weren't dealing with mundanes right now.

Leaning forward, they looked through the one-way pane. Luke, who Jace immediately recognized from the photo, was standing in the doorway. But he didn't look as he had in the picture—smiling and happy. He was much more disheveled in appearance. He could also see the blood that spotted his clothes, the bruises on his face, and the long gash on his neck that disappeared under the collar of his shirt. He wondered who he had been fighting.

"Yes, feel free to look around." Luke said with heavy sarcasm as he looked back through the doorway. "Nice of you to show such an interest." Jace had thought he was talking to someone in the hall, until the the low laugh come from somewhere in the room. The warlocks had already entered, but the window was too small to see them.

With a flick of his wrist, Jace touched the stele to the rune and made it bigger. And then he went rigid. It were as if he had been plunged into freezing cold water and the pain of it were stabbing at him. He couldn't move. He was drowning in it. The warlocks—no, not warlocks—were dressed in long red robes with their hoods pushed back. As he looked at their faces, memories began to flood him in cold fury. Somewhere far away Clary whispered something, but he wasn't with her anymore. He was at his manor back in Idris where his father was hiding him in the closet, telling him to be quiet—to stay hidden._ But his eyes had been sad. _Jace couldn't remember a time when his father had ever been sad, and it wasn't until later he realized that in that moment, his father had been saying goodbye. _A boy of ten, scared as he disobeyed his father with the hope of helping him. And then the men who held his father captive, laughing. The hateful terrifying Shadowhunters who— And then the blood. So much blood. _Jace blinked, his one hand shaking while the other gripped the stele painfully tight.

And now they were in front of him, just beyond this screen and worse than a nightmare. "Just consider it a friendly follow-up, _Graymark._" One of them smiled, and Jace's blood ran cold as he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming out. It was the voice of the same one who had laughed while preventing his father from moving.

"There's nothing friendly about you, Pangborn." Luke said casually as he sat down on the edge of his desk. Jace hadn't even realized he had moved from the doorway. "Blackwell, don't touch that—it's valuable."

What was Luke doing with these men? Why were they here? He could taste blood in his mouth now, but he did not release his cheek. Blackwell had picked up The statue of Kali, and was looking at it appreciatively. "Nice," he said, and Jace wanted to bash his head in violently with it.

"Ah," Pangborn took the statue from the other man. "She who was created to battle a demon who could not be killed by any god or man. 'Oh Kali, my mother full of bliss! Enchantress of the almighty Shiva, in thy delirious joy thou dankest, clapping thy hands together. Thou art the Mover of all that moves, and we are but thy helpless toys.'"

"Very nice." Though Luke didn't look as if he had meant it. "I didn't know you were a student of the indian myths."

"All the myths are true," Pangborn smirked. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"I forget nothing." He had said it with a relaxed tension that, for the briefest of seconds, captured Jace's attention. His father had taught him how to use words and control emotions, and in that moment, Luke reminded him of his father. "I suppose Valentine sent you?"

"He did," Pangborn smiled. "He thought you might have changed your mind." and Jace's brow furrowed. They had all been told Valentine was dead, but now he knew that this was not true. The demons, Dorothea, and now these guys—they all spoke about him as if he were very much alive, so alive he must be. And Pangborn and Blackwell, at least, were working for him.

"There's nothing to change my mind about." Luke sighed as if he had been over this already. "I already told you I don't know anything. Nice cloaks by the way."

"Thanks," said Blackwell with a grin. "Skinned them off a couple of dead warlocks."

"Those are official Accord robes, aren't they? Are they from the Uprising?" Though he asked, Jace had the distinct feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Spoils of war," Pangborn chuckled.

"Aren't you afraid someone might mistake you for the real thing?" Luke asked, almost bored.

"Not," Pangborn grinned. "Once they get up close." Jace shivered, knowing that he was right. He, himself, had thought them warlocks at first too. It was taking all his control to stay where he was— to keep himself from drawing his blade and sinking it into one of them. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Clary had brushed against him at that moment, he probably would have. "Do you remember the Uprising, Lucian?" Pangborn asked softly, almost wistfully. "That was a great and terrible day. Do you remember how we trained together for battle?"

Jace's stomach knotted. He had been there? Been apart of the Uprising? Luke frowned. "The past is the past." he said tersely. And then calmer, "I don't know what to tell you gentleman. I can't help you now. I don't know anything."

"'Anything' is such a general word," Pangborn said gloomily. "Surely someone who owns so many books must know _something."_

"If you want to know where to find a jog-toed swallow in the springtime, I could direct you to the correct reference title," Luke said condescendingly. "But if you want to know where the Mortal Cup has disappeared to. . ."

"'Disappeared' might not be quite the correct word," Pangborn said smoothly. "_Hidden, _more like. Hidden by Jocelyn."

"That may be," Luke said airily. "So hasn't she told you where it is yet?"

"She has not yet regained consciousness," Pangborn said. "Valentine is disappointed. He was looking forward to their reunion."

"Im sure she didn't reciprocate the sentiment." And Jace could hear the undercurrent in Luke's tone.

Apparently, so had Pangborn. "Jealous, Graymark? Perhaps you no longer feel about her the way you _used_ to."

"I never felt any way about her, particularly." Luke said, though Jace thought his eyes betrayed him ever so slightly. "Two Shadowhunters, exiled from their own kind, you can see why we might have banded together. But I'm not going to try to interfere with Valentine's plans for her, if that's what he's worried about."

"I wouldn't say he's worried," Pangborn said. "More curious. We all wondered if you were still alive. Still recognizably human."

"And?"

"You seem well enough," he admitted bitterly, putting the statue he had been holding this whole time back on the shelf. "There was a child, wasn't there? A girl?"

And now Luke looked shocked. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," Blackwell snapped suddenly. "We know the bitch had a daughter. They found photos of her in the apartment, a bedroom—"

"I thought you were asking about children of mine," Luke cut him off, sounding bored again. _He's lying, _Jace thought. Though Luke had said it smoothly, Jace had seen the swallow in his throat and the tenseness in his shoulders. He had been shocked that they knew about Clary. "Yes," Luke went on. "Jocelyn had a daughter. Clarissa. I assume she's run off." He said this with almost a disappointed edge to his tone. "Did Valentine send you to find her?"

"Not us," said Pangborn. "But he is looking."

"We could search this place," Blackwell suggested.

"I wouldn't advise it." He was standing now. While his expression was still one of indifference,The look in Luke's eyes had changed from bored to menacing as quickly as one could flip a light switch. Again, Jace was reminded strongly of his father. "What makes you think she's still alive? I thought Valentine sent Raveners to scour the place. Enough Ravener poison, and most people will crumble away to ashes, leave no trace behind."

"There was a dead Ravener," said Pangborn. "It made Valentine suspicious."

"Everything makes Valentine suspicious," Luke pointed out dully. "Maybe Jocelyn killed it. She was certainly capable."

Blackwell grunted as if what Luke had suggested were ridiculous, before conceding. "Maybe."

Luke merely shrugged in response. "Look, I've got no idea where the girl is, but for what it's worth, I'd guess she's dead. She'd have turned up by now otherwise." There was that slight undercurrent of disappointment again. "Anyway, she's not much danger. She's fifteen years old, she's never heard of Valentine, and she doesn't believe in demons."

Pangborn gave a low sinister laugh. "A fortunate child."

"Not anymore," said Luke annoyed.

Blackwell looked at Luke with some surprise. "You sound angry, Lucian."

"I'm not angry, I'm exasperated. I'm not planning on interfering with Valentine's plans, do you understand that? I'm not a fool."

"Really?" Blackwell grinned. "It's nice to see that you've developed a healthy respect for your own skin over the years, Lucian. You weren't always so pragmatic."

"You do know," added Pangborn lightly, "that we'd trade her, Jocelyn, for the cup? Safely delivered, right to your door. That's a promise from Valentine himself."

"I know," said Luke. "I'm not interested. I don't know where your precious cup is, and I don't want to get involved in your politics. I hate Valentine, but I respect him. I know he'll mow down everyone in his path. I intend to be out of his way when that happens. He's a monster—a killing machine."

"Look whose talking," growled Blackwell. Luke smirked.

"I take it these are your preparations for removing yourself from Valentine's path?" Pangborn pointed to the duffle bag on the desk. "Getting out of town, Lucian?"

"Going to the country." Luke said, nodding. "I plan to lie low for awhile."

"We could stop you," leered Blackwell. "Make you stay."

And then Luke smiled. Jace knew that smile. It was the same bone-chilling smile he usually got right before a fight. But more-so. There was a savagery to him now. His eyes blazing. "You could try." His tone was void of the emotion his expression showed.

The other two faltered in Luke's open challenge, seeming to change their minds. "You'll notify us if you experience any sudden memory resurgence.?" Pangborn said.

Continuing to smile, Luke said, "You'll be the first on my list to call."

Pangborn nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I suppose we'll take our leave. The Angel guard you, Lucian."

The Angel does not guard those like me," Luke said stiffly. Turning, he picked up the duffle bag and knotted the top. "On your way, gentlemen?"

Jace clenched and unclenched his fists, the cold fury still in his body screaming at him to act before they could leave the room. Demanding that he stop them. Demanding vengeance. But they were already gone. Luke lingered in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room before he left, shutting the door behind him. They continued to stand there for some time, Jace's heart hammering with the desire to pounce from the room and go after them as they left the house.

"Clary?" It was the hesitance in Simon's voice that got Jace's attention. "Are you okay?"

Jace didn't need to see Clary shake her head to have known the answer. "Of course she isn't." He snapped, trying to control his tone, and failing. He was suddenly filled with a deep loathing for this mundane. The intruder to something personal for both him and Clary. Jace wanted to hurt him—to break him. He took a breath and jerked the Rosewood screen aside, walking out into the office. He needed to get a hold of himself. Simon was an idiot, this was true. But truth be told, it was not his fault that he was so angry. In a calmer tone, he said, "At least least now we know who had sent a demon after your mother. Those men think she has the Mortal Cup."

"That's totally ridiculous _and_ impossible." Clary said pointedly.

Jace walked absentmindedly to Luke's desk, only barely registering that the photo Clary had tossed there was gone as he leaned against it. "Maybe," he said. And then he looked at her, closing off his own emotions in the process so as to not give away the loathing he felt with his next words. "Have you ever seen those men before?"

"No," Clary said, shaking her head. "Never."

"Lucian seemed to know them. To be friendly with them." And even Jace wasn't sure if his words were meant as an observation or an accusation.

Simon seemed unsure as well. "I wouldn't say friendly." he said quickly. "I'd say they were suppressing their hostility."

"They didn't kill him outright." Jace said, supposing Simon might be right. "They think he knows more than he's telling."

"Maybe." It was Clary who spoke now. "Or maybe they're just reluctant to kill another Shadowhunter."

Jace found himself laughing at this, though not with humor. No, this was jarring and threaded with loathing and his desire to kill. "I doubt that."

Clary looked like she was studying him. "What makes you so sure? Do you know them?"

"Do I know them?" Jace repeated hollowly, the laughter gone now. He looked at Clary; her light red curls falling down on her shoulders, her emerald eyes watching him. Even now, he thought her fragile—like a porcelain doll that might break without his protection. She trusted him, he realized. He's not sure when it happened, but he had earned her trust. He would trust her with this. He looked down at the floor, but couldn't keep the quiet anger out of his voice when he said, "You might say that." And then he met Clary's eyes. "Those are the men who murdered my father."

_And I plan to kill them. _He wore different shoes now than the one's he did at ten, but someday he would see them stained with their blood—just as they had once been stained with his father's.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I know I had said I would get this up yesterday, but yeah . . . six hours of sleep in three days, and I was out. So I hope it was worth the wait! As always thank you for the reviews! And also, thank you to those who have been favoriting and chapter alerting it! I really do appreciate it!_


	7. Don't Ask - Don't Tell

**~Chapter Seven~**

**Don't Ask - Don't Tell**

The silence in the room was deafening. Simon at least had the good grace to look away awkwardly and pretend to be interested in something on the book shelf, but Clary was staring at Jace with open surprise. _Could she stop looking at me like that? _Jace looked up at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheek. He wished so much that he had gone after Pangborn and Blackwell. He had never known their names before, and now they rolled through his head incessantly. He wished . . . he shook his head—it didn't matter. He had not acted. _That's _the only thing that mattered. Just as when he had been ten, he hid from the monsters that had killed his father.

As light as a feather, he felt the brush of Clary's hand against his arm, and he jerked away. He did _not_ want her pity. "We should go." Pushing away from the desk, he walked out of the office and into the living room. He could hear the foot falls of Clary and the mundane following behind him, and he said, "We don't know when Luke might come back."

Jace leaned against the wall in the entryway allowing Clary to exit first, and then Simon. He paused, closing the door behind him. Pulling out his stele, he was in the process of locking up when he noticed a small red thread on the door jam, as if it had gotten caught there when someone walked by. With lightning speed, he plucked it off, and stuck it in his pocket, his heart hammering. And then they walked. The keen-sight rune Jace had applied earlier was starting to fade now, and even if it hadn't, he doubted he would be able to see anything but Blackwell and Pangborn. How long had they plagued his sleep? How long had he thought he had seen them on the streets of New York when he first arrived here? And how long had he wanted to kill them?

"Does anyone want to tell me where we're going?" Simon pulled Jace from his thoughts.

With a controlled calmness, Jace replied. "To the L train."

"You've got to be kidding me," Simon said with disbelief. "Demon slayers take the subway?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "It's faster than driving."

But Simon was unrelenting—like a fly right before it got the shit knocked out of it. "I thought it'd be something cooler, like a van with _Death to Demons_ painted on the outside, or . . ."

Jace stopped listening. With his jaw locked he thought about the thread in his pocket. If he could do what he wanted to do with it, then he might get his chance to find them. And if he could find them, he could kill them. It was a peaceful thought, and he would need to hold onto it if he wanted to be able to get through the next couple days. He also knew that if he found them, he wouldn't _just_ kill them, but. . .

"Simon," Clary admonished. "Enough."

And Jace heard yet another name for the side of the van they didn't own (_The Extraordinary League of Demon Hunters_), before Simon's voice died away. Jace couldn't find it in him to care about Simon's rambling though. As they turned down Kent street, he found himself wondering what Clary was thinking. How strange that they had been thrown together like this, and even stranger that they would end up having such common interests. If you could call sharing the desire to hunt down the same men a common interest. Maybe he would kill one of them in honor of her and her mother. From his peripheral, Jace saw that Clary was in a near jog to keep up with him. But why? Why was she doing this? Sometimes she seemed to hate him, and other times—like now, she seemed to be . . . what, trying to be there for him? He suddenly felt bad that he had pulled away so brusquely earlier when she had touched his arm—but he had seen the pity in her eyes, and he had gotten enough pity after his father was killed. That, and the idea of getting pity from her was somehow far, far worse. Not that she knew that. He sighed. Clary was just too much for him. He didn't think he knew how to handle her—how to act around her. She wasn't the typical girl who fell for his charms, nor was she amused by his humor. No—she was the kind of girl who attacked his face and told him off. She frustrated him. All the same, he found himself slowing down so she could keep up till they got to the station.

On the train, Simon kept throwing sharp glares at Jace after Clary chose to sit by him. If he had wanted to be a real asshole to the mundane, he could have thrown his arm over her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not for Simon's sake but for hers. After the fifth dirty look, however, Jace was growing fed up.

"Look on the bright side, mundane," he said, giving Simon a condescending smile. "Once the train stops, you can go back to the comforts of your bed and forget all about the _handsome_, emo wanna-be goth with the _naturally_ blonde hair."

But it was Clary who responded. "What do you mean?" and Jace turned his head lazily to look at her. She was searching his face curiously, as if unsure about something.

"Which part? I really do have naturally blonde—"

"I'm not talking about that," Clary said. "I meant, what do you mean about him going to the comforts of his bed?"

Jace wondered with only slight curiosity which part of that had not been self explanatory? "Well, usually beds are pretty comfortable," he said, carefully controlling his tone so that he sounded bored as he drew out his words in the way he knew she hated. "Now, I don't know about his but, I _assume_ it would be too. So after the train stops and he skips his merry way back to his—"

"I don't skip." Simon cut him off. "And I'm not all that merry either. What I'm really trying to go for is the brooding narcissist thing."

Jace turned slowly to look at him. He could tell from Simon's tone that he had been trying to insult him, but he merely shrugged. "You're doing it wrong." he said. "You'd have to be a lot less—" he gestured at all of Simon. "—you. But hey, your call." And then he turned to look back at Clary, as if the interruption had never occurred. "So once he angrily rhumbas his way back home—"

But Clary was stopping him now. "You _do_ realize that he's coming back to the Institute with us, right?"

At this Simon smiled, and Jace's brow's knitted together incredulously. "Um, no he's not."

"Yes_,_ he is." She insisted

He shook his head. "No."

"Yes!"

"No, he's—by the Angel, are we really doing this?" Jace couldn't hide the exasperation in his voice. But Clary didn't care.

"Why not?" She challenged. "Why can't he come with us?

"Because he's a mundane, Clary," he said as if this should be an obvious answer.

"Not good enough," she said, mutinously crossing her arms.

Jace became incensed. Was she being serious right now? "What do you mean _'not good enough_'?" He demanded. "Mundane's don't belong in the Institute!"

"You thought _I_ was a mundane!" Clary countered, her eyes blazing with their emerald fires. "That wasn't going to stop you from bringing me back anyway. So don't give me that crap."

"You were different." Jace muttered, crossing his arms irritably. "You had already proven you had the Sight."

"And he spent three day's spying on Luke!" She stated. "He's proven himself."

"Hiding in a man's vegetation hardly proves oneself." Jace pointed out.

"It does to me. Besides, after three days he could have useful information—information we couldn't get otherwise." Her voice was pleading now, and Jace's stomach tightened. Looking at Simon, he bit the inside of his cheek. He doubted he could be any use to anyone, really. Not that it mattered. Clary was already taking his silence for being close to capitulating. "He's coming with us, Jace. _Please_." Her voice was soft now; caressing, almost.

_Dammit! _Jace closed his eyes, his jaw locking hard as he fought the urge to continue arguing. He also knew what this would mean, even if they didn't. A mundane in the Institute? Simon's information had better be amazing. He nodded, knowing that Clary was still watching him. God, he really didn't like her right now. And he had to keep from reaching over and knocking Simon's glasses off his face when he heard him snicker. The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

Now they were walking up to the massive Institute.

"You live _here?" _

Jace looked at Simon unamused before pulling his key out from from underneath his shirt. Every Shadowhunter had one, though they were only required to use it when allowing a mundane to pass through it's doors for the first time. They were lucky Jace was even carrying it—had been since they had originally thought Clary a mundane. Hodge had given it to him before he had set out to bring her back. Not that he had needed to use it.

"But it's a church." Simon continued to the silent glares he received.

"We find it useful to inhabit hallowed ground," Jace said irritably.

"I get that but, no offense, this place is a dump."

Jace frowned looking up at the Institute. It had been so long ago that he was taught how to look past a glamour, that it was very rare that he didn't just automatically do it. Even now, he wasn't sure what the Institute looked like to Simon. He only saw the beautiful stone walls, with its tall spires and leaded windows. Shrugging, he stopped at the gate that would otherwise not allow Simon through.

"It's a glamour, Simon." Clary tried to explain. "It doesn't really look like this."

"If this is your idea of a glamour," Simon began. "I'm having second thoughts about letting you make me over."

If it weren't for the fact that Jace was exhausted, hungry, still feeling the pulsing of anger at having run into his father's murders, and irritated at having lost to an argument with Clary, he might have told Simon to go screw himself and refused to let him in. He still couldn't believe Clary _wanted_ him here. Or that he had agreed to it. Fitting the key into the lock, he looked over at Simon, who was still looking at the Institute as if he were less than impressed. "I'm not sure you're quite sensible of the honor I'm doing you," he said. "You'll be the first mundane who has ever been inside the Institute." and the gate swung open.

"Probably the smell keeps the rest of them away."

Jace rounded on Simon, but Clary was already elbowing him in the ribs. And Jace, knowing from experience how sharp and pointy her elbows were, felt this might be a worse punishment. "Ignore him." she said apologetically. "He always says exactly what comes into his head. No filters."

"Filters are for cigarettes and coffee," Simon mumbled as he rubbed his ribs painfully. "Two things I could use now, incidentally."

Jace rolled his eyes and went inside.

In the elevator Jace couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, how Clary could possibly stand the mundane. He knew they had been friends for some time now, but everyone had a limit on what they were willing to put up with. He also knew that the mundane loved her—a feeling she didn't seem to reciprocate. At least, not the same way. But what if she did? Who was he to assume otherwise? Maybe he should back off. Granted, had he ever really got on? He had a headache. Today had been an emotional roller coaster for Jace. One he was ready and willing to get off of. He also knew it would be a little while longer before he could. He still had to find Alec or Hodge and tell them what happened, as well as explain why he had brought a mundane back with him. Part of him figured that Hodge would be the most understanding, as they all had originally thought Clary was a mundane and he had still allowed her to be brought back. If Hodge was unavailable, he would go to Alec. And if Alec was unavailable . . . well, he would just have to hide the mundane under a loose floorboard until one of them was.

As the elevator came to a stop, Jace opened the gate and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. He looked around quickly, but not seeing Church, he whistled through his teeth. Within a few seconds, the fat blue persian came slinking around the corner, coming to a stop in front of them. "Church," Jace crossed to the cat, and knelt to scratch his head. "Where's Alec, Church? Where's Hodge?" The cat stretched lazily, meowing, and Jace scrunched up his nose as he deciphered what the cat was saying. "Are they in the library?" He stood as Church shook himself and then headed down the corridor, stopping to wait for them. Jace pushed his hair out of his face as he begin to follow Church, indicating with a slight wave of his hand that Clary and her mundane were to follow them.

"I don't like cats" He heard Simon say from behind him.

Jace didn't bother to turn around as he said, "It's unlikely, knowing Church, that he like's you either." He did not hear a response. They continued following the cat as he led them through rooms and down corridors with empty rooms.

"How many people live here, exactly?" Simon asked, the astonishment in his voice evident.

Before Jace could answer, he heard Clary reply, "It's an Institute. A place where Shadowhunters can stay when they're in the city. Like a sort of combination safe haven and research facility." And Jace smiled. Clary was always the one so full of questions, and now here she was repeating the answer he had given to her for the same question she had once asked.

"I thought it was a church." Simon stated.

"It's _inside_ a church."

Jace looked down at the cat as it suddenly darted left, and he quickened his stride to keep up with it. He hoped that Clary and Simon were keeping up. "You _are_ taking me to Hodge or Alec, right?" he asked the cat. Church meowed in response. "And they're both in the kitchen?" Another meow. Jace narrowed his eyes, trying to read Church before shrugging. He was hungry anyway. He looked back to see where Clary was and his stomach dropped. Biting his cheek, he turned and entered the kitchen. It was none of his business if she was holding the mundanes hand.

He stopped abruptly. _Son of a bitch! _Isabelle was standing at the red cast iron stove with her back to him. Steam was rising around her, and the steel counters were strewn with the ingredients of—Oh, dear mother of God, she was cooking. He was just trying to decide whether or not he should back away slowly and run when Clary and Simon walked in. He wasn't sure how to shoo them out without notifying Isabelle of their presence. Not that it mattered. She knew he was there.

"I'm making soup," Isabelle waved the large wooden spoon in the air as way of saying, hello. Then she turned to look at Jace. "Are you hungry?" But before Jace could answer, Isabelle's eyes glazed past him, and he didn't have to guess who it was that she had locked on. He was going to kill that cat; maybe make a hat out of him. The surprise leaving her face now, Isabelle's narrowed eyes found Jace's again. "Oh, my God," She said it as if it were his last rights. "You brought another mundie here? Hodge is going to _kill_ you."

Behind him, Simon cleared his throat and Jace closed his eyes. _Don't do it. Don't do—_

"I'm Simon."

"JACE WAYLAND," She cried, and Jace's eye's popped open just as Church reappeared. "_Explain yourself_."

"I told you to bring me to Alec!" Jace hissed, glaring at the cat. "Backstabbing Judas."

But Church was now rolling on his back at Isabelle's feet, purring. Maybe he would make some mittens too. "Don't blame Church," Isabelle said flatly. "It's not his fault that Hodge is going to kill you." Turning, she sunk the spoon back into whatever her concoction was.

Jace didn't think Hodge would be nearly as mad as Izzy was. Besides, if anything was going to kill him, it would be what was in that pot. But all the same, he found himself explaining to her. "I had to bring him," He left out the part where Clary demanded it. And then his stomach knotted as he made a decision. "Isabelle—today I saw two of the men that killed my father." _Pangborn and Blackell._ _Blackwell and Pangborn._ The names used Jace's head like a pinball machine.

He could see her body stiffen, but when she turned around her eyes were narrowed as she pointed her spoon at Simon. "I don't suppose he's one of them?"

"Of course not," Jace said, his eyes flashing to Simon. And then back to him again. Was he seriously standing there with his mouth hanging open? While it wouldn't be the first time he had seen someone stare at Isabelle like that—Simon was supposed to be in love with Clary. Was this how mundanes showed their love? By ogling other girls? He looked at Clary, who was standing there fidgeting self-consciously with her hair and her clothes as she glanced furiously at Simon and then Isabelle. Didn't she realize that she was more beautiful than Izzy? Didn't Simon? Jace shook the thought quickly from his head then, and looked at his sister again. "Do you think he'd be alive now if he were?" _Though, he may not make it much longer, _he added silently.

Isabelle barely gave Simon a passing glance. "I suppose not," she shrugged as she took up a slice of fish and dropped it on the floor. Church pounced on it.

Jace's eyes widened. "No wonder he brought us here," he said with revulsion. "I can't believe you've been stuffing him with fish again. He's looking distinctly podgy." Jace added that last part purposely for the traitorous cat, who looked like he could care less. Stupid cat.

But Isabelle was already dismissing him. "He does not look podgy." She said her tone lighter, and Jace relaxed knowing that he was in the clear with Izzy now. "Besides, none of the rest of you ever eat anything. I got this recipe from a water sprite at the Chelsea Market. He said it was delicious—"

"If you knew how to cook, maybe I _would _eat," Jace muttered, looking longingly at the fridge, his stomach growling.

"_What_ did you say?" Isabelle said dangerously, pointing her spoon at him like a seraph blade.

"I said—" he could have said something nicer, but screw it. Her cooking sucked. "—I'm going to look for a snack to eat."

"That's what I thought you said," she smiled wickedly.

Jace smiled, knowing that Isabelle wouldn't have expected anything less from him. Moving to the fridge he pulled it open, and sighed. Leaning in, he pushed aside the expired milk and smiled when he saw that Hodge had written **Do Not Eat **on his food this time. Jace was the reason he wrote it—not that it would stop him. He would keep searching first though. Maybe further in the back. He did find some sliced cheese, but no lunch meat. Not that this fazed him—he could make a mean cheese sandwich when he had to—

"I can't believe you're eating," Clary hissed, suddenly next to him.

"What should I be doing instead?" He asked unruffled. She, fortunately, had never been forced to eat one of Izzy's experiments. And after seeing the fish and peanuts . . . that cheese sandwich was sounding better and better. But instead of responding, Clary leaned forward, her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she peered in.

"Wow, he's like a crazy roommate."

Confused, Jace looked at her and then followed her emerald gaze, landing on the Hodge's food. "What, Hodge? He just likes things in order." _And he likes me to stay out of his food. _Behind an expired container of hummus, Jace saw something that could be promising. Pulling out the tupperware, he pulled off the lid hopeful. "Hmm. Spaghetti." It would work.

"Don't ruin your appetite," Isabelle called.

But Jace was already turning around with the spaghetti in hand. "That," he said pointedly, as he grabbed a fork and kicked the fridge door shut, "is exactly what I intend to do." Clary was looking at him as if she couldn't believe his lack in manners. He only smiled and held out the container. "Want some?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not," he said, taking a bite of the soft marinara drenched noodles. "You ate all those sandwiches," he joked.

"It wasn't _that_ many sandwiches." She said, as she looked over at Simon. The idiot mundane had gotten Isabelle talking. Not that that mattered. Isabelle wouldn't give him the time of day. Clary frowned as she watched her friend, though, and Jace's stomach tightened. "Can we go find Hodge now?" she asked suddenly.

Taking another bite, Jace looked from her to Simon. "You seem awfully eager to get out of here."

But she shook her head, "Don't you want to tell him what we saw?"

Jace shrugged and set the container down. "I haven't decided yet," he said, licking the sauce off his knuckles. She was tugging her curls again, her eyes watching Simon. "But if you want to go so badly—"

"I do."

"Fine."

With a shrug, Jace made his way to the door, Clary right next to him. He could tell she was upset, but he didn't say anything. They had just made it to the door when he heard Simon call out, "Where are you going?"

Turning around, Jace was reminded of the last moron that Isabelle decided to make her play thing. His eyes were glazed over and he looked like he had been hit by a Mac truck—just less bloody. For now. The fact that Simon had nearly told Clary he loved her in the coffee shop, guilt tripped her back at Luke's, and had held her hand in the hallway, only to toss her aside for Isabelle was just ludicrous to Jace. And to see that it was actually affecting her only made it worse.

"To find Hodge," Clary said curtly. "I need to tell him what happened at Luke's"

At that, Isabelle looked up, her eyes meetings Jace's. "Are you going to tell him that you saw those men, Jace? The ones that—"

"I don't know." He said stiffly, cutting her off. "So keep it to yourself for now."

"All right," Isabelle shrugged, unfazed by his abruptness. "Are you going to come back? Do you want soup?"

"No." said Jace.

"Do you think Hodge will want any soup?" Izzy asked unperturbed.

"No one wants any soup," he said flatly.

"_I _want some soup," Simon said.

Jace glared at him. Did he really not notice Clary was upset by his behavior? Obviously not as here the twit was, now asking for fish and peanut soup from Izzy. "No, you don't." Jace was feeling viscous now. "You just want to sleep with Isabelle."

Simon gasped, his face horrified as a deep blush painted his cheeks. "That is _not _true."

"How flattering," Isabelle said, smirking into the soup.

But Jace wasn't done. He was far from done. "Oh, yes it is," he continued. "Go ahead and ask her—then she can turn you down and the rest of us can get on with our lives while you fester in miserable humiliation." But Simon just glared at him in livid embarrassment, so Jace snapped his fingers at him. "Hurry up, mundie boy, we've got work to do."

Suddenly Clary rounded on him. "Leave him alone," she said angrily, and Jace brought his gaze down slowly to meet her emerald fires. "There is no need to be sadistic just because he isn't one of you."

"One of _us,_" Jace corrected, and then bit the inside of his cheek. Why did he bother? This was pointless. "I'm going to find Hodge. Come along or not, it's your choice." Turning on his heel, he pushed out of the door and into the corridor, anger pulsing through him as he went. He had made it only a few steps down the hall when he realized that if she chose to follow him, she wouldn't know where to go. A part of him wanted to say that he could care less and keep walking. The other part of him was already turning around. _Gah!_ This was ridiculous! Taking out his seraph blade, he began twirling it between his fingers as he leaned against the wall, waiting.

It only took a minute before Clary came out, Church close on her heels. Jace pocketed his seraph blade. "Kind of you to leave the lovebirds to it."

But Clary just stared at him. "Why are you always such an asshat?"

Jace's eyes widened, and he couldn't stop his mouth curving upward into a half-cocked smile as his anger dissipated. He nearly laughed. "An asshat?" The visual picture was even funnier.

But Clary wasn't amused. "What you said to Simon—"

"I was trying to save him some pain," he said cutting her off with a blatant lie now. "Isabelle will cut out his heart and walk all over it in high-healed boots. That's what she does to boys like that." And, really it wasn't all a lie . . . Isabelle _would_ do those things. But he didn't care a bit if she did. It was just easier than telling Clary the truth—Simon had hurt her, so Jace wanted to hurt him.

"Is that what she did to you?" Clary said.

Jace stared at her. How could someone so beautiful and smart and stubborn and compassionate still manage to be so stupid sometimes? He wasn't even sure what to say to her ridiculous question. Did she really think every guy wanted Isabelle? That Isabelle was what counted as beautiful? Jace could only shake his head, turning to Church.

"Hodge." He said. "And _really_ Hodge this time. Bring us anywhere else, and I'll make you into a tennis racket."

With what was most clearly a snort, Church turned and slipped down the hall. Jace followed, Clary just a step behind him. He was tired, and Clary was just so frustrating. Why would she even think that he would want Isabelle? They were like brother and sister. As they turned up another hall, he could feel his body beginning to ache from all that had happened today and he was beginning to think that a hot shower could very well be the greatest thing in the world right now.

"Jace." she whispered in the way that he both loved and hated.

Slowly, he looked at her and saw that she was tugging absentmindedly on her curls, her mouth pulled into a frown. "What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry." She said, meeting his gaze. "For snapping at you."

He chuckled. He couldn't help it. "Which time?"

"You snap at me, too, you know."

"I know," he gave a light smile at the surprise on her face. His admission had caught her off guard. "There's something about you that's so—"

"Irritating?"

"Unsettling."

And now it was his turn to be surprised that he had finally voiced the word that had haunted him from the first day he had met her. He had always been so sure where his life was meant to go. Becoming a Shadowhunter was the only thing that had mattered to Jace. Sure, there had been girls along the way—mundanes and downworlders alike, but never had one effected him like this. Usually he just wanted them to go away after awhile. He didn't want Clary to go away. And that scared him.

"Does Isabelle always make dinner for you?" Clary asked suddenly, her voice light as they entered the music room.

Jace smiled at her attempt to change the subject, and went with it. "No, thank God. Most of the time the Lightwoods are here and Maryse—that's Isabelle's mother—she cooks for us. She's an amazing cook." And it was almost as if he could taste one of her casseroles. How he missed those.

"Then how come she never taught Isabelle?" Clary asked.

"Because," Jace said slowly, distracted by the piano had been recovered with the sheet. He wondered if Hodge had done that. "It's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

"Would she have been?" Clary asked interested.

"Not Isabelle," Jace laughed, thinking of that gleam Izzy got in her eyes when she killed a demon. "She's one of the best Shadowhunters I've ever known."

"Better than Alec?"

At that moment, Church, who Jace had been following studiously, darted ahead toward the spiral staircase, before turning and stopping to stare at them. "So he's in the greenhouse then," Jace said, looking at the cat. "No surprise there."

"The greenhouse?" Clary asked.

Moving forward, Jace began up the first few steps, the metal railing cold in his hand. "Hodge likes it up there. He grows medicinal plants, things we can use—" _Things that saved your life. _"—Most of them only grow in Idris. I think it reminds him of home." Something he could hardly fault Hodge for. As they went, Jace could hear Clary's foot falls on the metallic steps as she followed him. He smiled. Moving silently was a skill he had learned through a lot of training, and even then, it was not easy to do.

"Is he better than Isabelle?" Clary asked. "Alec, I mean."

Jace stopped, and holding to the center bar to keep him from toppling down the spiral staircase, he leaned over Clary. She sucked in her breath suddenly and he wondered if she had thought he was going to fall. Given his record with stairs since she had known him, he couldn't blame her. "Better?" he asked, as she looked up at him, her emerald eyes bright. "At demon-slaying?" Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, and Jace realized he preferred her hair like this. "No, not really. He's never killed a demon."

"Really?"

_Snap out of it! _he told himself firmly. "I don't know why not," he shrugged, starting up the stairs again. "Maybe because he's always protecting Izzy and me." On the landing now, Jace shouldered open the large double doors. These might have been the only large wooden doors in the Institute that he liked. They were engraved with vines and leaves and kept safe one of the only places Jace could feel at home at.

Jace smiled as he held the door for Clary to walk through, her full lips forming a soft "o" as she walked into the greenhouse. Just like with the library, she couldn't hide her surprise as she drank in everything she could with her eyes. He wasn't sure why he found her intrigue amusing but it was sweet almost. Walking forward, he took a deep breath and felt his whole body relax more than it had all day. Up here, he could imagine the rolling green hills of Idris and the honey colored stones of his manor, as real in his mind as they had once been. In that moment, he tried to imagine what it would be like to grow up believing he were a mundane, only to find out that his whole world had been a lie. That a new world he had never heard of, existed in it's place. He couldn't do it. Couldn't even imagine it.

Next to him, he heard Clary release her breath. "It smells like . . ."

"Home," Jace said, "to me." Reaching up, Jace pushed past one of the hanging fronds, holding it to the side as Clary followed. Long ago, Hodge had organized the greenhouse into sections that would best suit medicinal and herbal needs. That way, he wasn't left stumbling on a wild goose chase if he needed to put together a quick concoction for poison, or if he needed a sleep remedy. He could go to whatever section it was that housed those particular plants.

Up ahead, Jace could hear the water from the rock pond. As he approached it, he could see Hodge sitting on one of the benches. He was staring down at the crystal clear water almost wistfully, Hugo resting on his shoulder as he always did. As they got closer, Hodge looked up at the glass ceiling that allowed the sunlight in.

"You look like your waiting for something," Jace announced, as he pulled a leaf off a nearby branch and spun it between his fingers.

"I was lost in thought," Hodge smiled. Standing up, he stretched out the arm that Hugo sat perched on. And then he noticed them. Jace wondered how bad they must really look, for the smile to vanish so suddenly from Hodge's face. Jace cast a glance at Clary, and thought she really didn't look too bad—but then, she had also changed her clothes. So it must have been him that was garnering that look. "What happened? You look as if—"

"We were attacked," Jace stated bluntly. "Forsaken."

Hodge's eyes grew wide. "Forsaken warriors? Here?"

"Warrior," corrected Jace. "We only saw one."

"But Dorothea said there were more," Clary added.

"Dorothea?" Hodge held up his hand, looking from Jace, to Clary, and then back to Jace. "This might be easier if you took events in order."

Jace heard Clary inhale, as if getting ready to speak. "Right," he said, cutting her off before she could. He gave her a look of warning—hoping that she understood it, and praying that she didn't try to add anything. Turning back to Hodge, he smiled. Where to begin? He decided that the elevator trip down was not necessary information, and instead started when they had arrived at Clary's apartment. He knew that Isabelle would be disappointed in his story telling, but he didn't feel the need to include sights, colors, and sounds unless it was required. He gave only the facts. And he didn't lie about the men who had showed up at Luke's house, though he didn't offer up the part about them being the same men who killed his father, either. And then finally he came to a finish, saying, "Clary's mother's friend—or whatever he is, really—goes by the name Luke Garroway, but while we were at his house, the two men who claimed the were emissaries of Valentine referred to him as Lucian Graymark."

"And their names were . . ."

Jace's stomach twisted, his mouth going dry. "Pangborn and Blackwell." he could almost here the pinging of the pinball machine in his head.

Hodge turned white as he looked at Jace, his eyes wide. "It is as I feared," he whispered. "The Circle is rising again."

Jace's brow furrowed. He didn't think he had ever heard that name before, but surely if it was important, it would have been in his studies. A quick glance at Clary, told him that she had no idea what Hodge was talking about either, not that he had really expected her to. "The Circle?"

But Hodge was shaking his head as if plagued by a bad memory. "Come with me," he said. "It's time I showed you something."

When they entered the darkened library, Hodge had immediately went to turn up the gas lamps while Clary made her way to the red overstuffed sofa. Jace, who couldn't fathom what this was about, stared after Hodge as he moved from lamp to lamp. Even turned up, the firelight wasn't enough to chase away all the shadow. Turning to look at Clary, he saw her sitting with her legs drawn up. Her small frame made it look like she was being overtaken by the couch, her green orbs wide as she met his gaze. He silently made his way to her with the intention of sitting next to her, but changed his mind midway and leaned against the arm of the sofa that she rested against instead. Hodge was now scanning the shelves for something. A moment later, he disappeared below his desk as if he had gone down to his hands and knees. Jace's foot began to tap, as he crossed and uncrossed his arm.

"Hodge, if you need help looking—" he began, when Hodge still hadn't reemerged.

"Not at all," Hodge said popping up from behind his desk, brushing dirt off his knees with one hand and carrying a large leather bound book in the other. "I've found it." Taking a step toward them, Hodge balanced the book in his hand as he flipped through the pages, searching once more for something that Jace couldn't seem to help with. the longer he had to thumb through the book, the louder his muttering got. "Where . . . where . . . ah, here it is!" he finally announced. Jace and Clary became a little more attentive as Hodge began to read, "I hereby render unconditional obedience too the Circle and its principles . . . I will be ready to risk my life at anytime for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged."

Jace cocked an eyebrow, his lip curling with distaste. "What was that from?" It sounded to him like something a cult might write or quote.

"It was the loyalty oath of the Circle of Raziel, twenty years ago," Hodge said, sounding almost as exhausted as Jace felt. And there was that word again—_the Circle—_what was that?

"It sounds creepy," Clary said, at one with Jace's thoughts. "Like a fascist organization or something."

Setting down the book, Hodge looked at them as if he were suffering some great unknown burden. He looked much older than his years in this moment, Jace thought. "They were a group," Hodge sighed, "of Shadowhunters, led by Valentine, dedicated to wiping out all Downworlders and returning the world to a 'purer' state. Their plan was to wait for the Downworlders to arrive in Idris to sign the Accords. They must be signed again each fifteen years, to keep their magic potent," he added, looking at Clary. "Then they planned to slaughter them all, unarmed and defenseless. This terrible act, they thought, would spark off a war between humans and Downworlders—one they intended to win."

Jace's brow furrowed. "That was the Uprising." Like every young Shadowhunter, he had heard stories of the Uprising. Knew that it had been started by Valentine, and that it had taken place during the Accords. But he had never heard anyone refer to them as the Circle. "I didn't know Valentine and his followers had a name."

"The name isn't spoken often nowadays," Hodge conceded. "Their existence remains an embarrassment to the Clave. Most documents pertaining to them have been destroyed."

"Then why do you have a copy of that oath?" Jace asked. While he didn't agree with the idea of trying to erase a black mark in the past by destroying the documents from that day, it was not his place to question the Clave's decisions either.

Hodge looked at Jace, something flashing in his eyes as he did so, and for the first time since Jace had known Hodge, he felt uncomfortable. Hodge shook his head and turned away. "Because," he finally said, his tone deep with regret. "I helped write it."

Jace stared at Hodge with disbelief. This was Hodge! His friendly, stuffy, and boring instructor. Hodge, who wrote on food containers, mixed herbs, and used a handkerchief. "You were in the Circle?"

"I was," Hodge said, turning toward them again but looking at neither. He was looking into a past he wished he could forget. "Clary's mother as well."

"_What?"_ Clary reared back, blinking in shock.

Hodge frowned as his eyes found her. "I said—"

"I know what you said!" She snapped, her emerald eyes blazing in the dim library. "My mother would have never have belonged to something like that. Some kind of—some kind of hate group."

"It wasn't—" Jace began, turning to her. But Hodge was already cutting him off.

"I doubt," he began slowly, as if he dreaded what he was about to say, "that she had much choice." At this Jace, raised a brow, wondering if it were possible for a Shadowhunter to force another Shadowhunter to do their bidding without a choice. What kind of rune or dark magic would that involve? He shuddered at the idea of not having control of himself, shaking the thought from his head. He would rather die.

Clary, however, stared at Hodge blankly. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't she have had a choice?"

"Because," sighed Hodge. "she was his wife."

An answer neither Jace nor Clary had been prepared for.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Hope you guys liked this one! I have to work tonight so I don't know when I will be able to get the next chapter out. _


	8. Not Knowing Is Sometimes Best

_**A/N:**__ Alright, here it is (I posted this earlier, but I don't know what happened). So this chapter had to be my hardest one yet! There was a lot of writing, deleting, and more deleting as Jace decided to get all feel-y, but demanded I try to stay true to his character as well. Not to mention that the chapter is really long, I nearly titled it: Chapter Eight: The Pain In My Ass! Fortunately that particular title didn't make the cut. Anyway, I really hope you like it! Please let me know what you think! _

* * *

**~Chapter Eight~**

**Not Knowing Is Sometimes Best**

Jace stared at Hodge. Was he kidding? This wasn't possible . . . Clary's mom was Valentine's—she used to be married to—he looked at Clary, who seemed to be struck just as silent as he was. But it made sense, didn't it? All the same, that anyone could have loved such a man. . . And then they were both speaking as they got up and approached Hodge near his desk, demanding answers from him.

"Valentine had a wife? He was married? I thought—"

"—That's impossible! My mother would never—she was only ever married to my father! She didn't have an ex-husband!"

But Hodge was waving them both down. "Children—"

"I'm not a child." Clary snapped. "And I don't want to hear anymore." Jace's stomach dropped as he saw her eyes glisten in the firelight. This was the third time he had seen her on the verge of tears, and he hated it just as much. But the sight of it was brief as she blinked away her frustration and moved across the room, her arms folded as she stared out the window. He bit the inside of cheek, knowing there was no way to make her feel better. What did you say to someone who was slowly learning that everything she knew was a lie? Fighting the urge to go to her, knowing she wanted a minute alone, he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk as Hodge gave him a pained look before turning to her.

"Clary," Hodge said, his tone of kind reasoning. It took a few moments before she acknowledged him, and when she finally did, her eyes narrowed on him.

"My mother wouldn't . . ." her voice trailed off, but Jace had heard the anger and betrayal in her words. Saw it on her face. And it twisted in him like a knife. Clary shook her head, her red curls bouncing lightly back and forth.

"Your mother left the Circle," Hodge spoke softly, not moving from his spot as if she were a bird who might take flight if he did. "Once we realized how extreme Valentine's views had become—once we knew what he was prepared to do—many of us left. Lucian was the first to leave. That was a blow to Valentine. They had been very close." Hodge said. Jace, wondering just _how close_ was close, touched his _Parabatai _rune asHodge continued. "Then Michael Wayland. Your father, Jace."

Cocking a brow, Jace looked up at Hodge as he lowered his hand. He wanted to say he was more surprised than he was, but he remembered his father—remembered how cruel he could sometimes be. And if he had left the Circle, as Hodge said, then the idea that people working for Valentine would track him down and kill him made sense. They would see his desertion as a traitorous act. The truth of it now didn't decrease his bloodlust, but it did help him understand why they had gone after him all those years ago. Not that it mattered. He would still kill them.

"There were those who stayed loyal." Hodge continued. "Pangborn. Blackwell. The Lightwoods—"

This time Jace really _was_ surprised; his eyes widening and his mouth falling open. "The Lightwoods? You mean Robert and Maryse?" he asked, unable to keep the absolute shock out of his voice. But then, what other Lightwoods were there? _But, maybe. . .? _he hoped. Hodge locked eyes with Jace then, and his hope disappeared. Jace could only shake his head, wondering if Alec and Izzy knew. "What about you?" he asked suddenly. "When did you leave?"

Hodge hesitated before finally saying, "I didn't." Seeing the look on Jace's face, he continued hastily. "Neither did they. . . We were afraid, too afraid of what he might do. After the Uprising the loyalists like Blackwell and Pangborn fled. We stayed and cooperated with the Clave. Gave them names. Helped them track down the ones who had run away. For that we received clemency."

This was hitting Jace hard now. He had thought he had known the Lightwoods—known Hodge. But now? And he claimed they had helped the Clave track down the runners, but what of Pangborn and Blackwell? Jace knew for a fact that they had never caught them. And then there was this _clemency_ Hodge talked about and he couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, about why Hodge never left the Institute. He had always thought that maybe he had just pissed off the wrong warlock or demon, or perhaps suffered from agoraphobia and didn't want to admit it, but now. . . "Clemency?" he asked, giving Hodge a quick, curious look.

"You are thinking of the curse that binds me here, aren't you?" Hodge asked, as if reading his mind. Jace blinked. "You always assumed it as a vengeance spell cast by an angry demon or warlock. I let you think it. But its not the truth. The curse that binds me here was cast by the Clave."

"For being in the Circle?" He pushed his hair out of his face as he looked at Hodge astounded. This seemed to be a little much for even the Clave, especially if Hodge had done as he said and helped them track down others.

"For not leaving it before the Uprising." Hodge corrected.

At this, Clary came forward. Jace saw that her face was set—the threatening tears gone now, and her usually full lips drawn into a thin line as she looked at Hodge. "But the Lightwoods weren't punished," she said. "Why not? They'd done the same thing you'd done."

Hodge didn't look as if he were going to answer at first. Reaching up, he rubbed his temples before meting Clary's gaze. "There were extenuating circumstances in their case—they were married; they had a child. Although it is not as if they reside in this outpost, far from home, by their own choice, We were banished here, the three of us—the four of us, I should say; Alec was a squalling baby when we left the Glass City. They can return to Idris on official business only, and then only for short times. I can never return. I will never see the Glass City again."

The seconds ticked by on the old grandfather clock that sat somewhere in one of the corners of the library far away from them. With each tick, it brought change. With each tock, it brought understanding. Jace stared at Hodge. At the man he had known for seven years. He would have never guessed—never known. This man who had seemed so eccentric and caring, so informative and never tiring of Jace's endless question—this man had been partly responsible for the deaths of many. The realization of that struck him. Would he have done differently than the Clave? The fact that they spared his life at all, showed something of their leniency. This man had been friends with Valentine; friends with Pangborn and Blackwell. "The Law is hard, but it is the Law." Jace said now.

Hodge smiled a hint of a smile. "I taught you that. And now you turn my lessons back at me. Rightly too." And now he looked exhausted, but even through it all. Through the glares that he received from both Clary and Jace, he still stood tall. Not with pride—but with air of a man who had accepted what he had done long ago, Jace thought.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Clary asked, her voice a whisper in the dimly lit room. "That my mother was married to Valentine. You knew her name—"

But Hodge was already stopping her. "I knew her as Jocelyn Fairchild, not Jocelyn Fray. And you were so insistent on her ignorance of the Shadow World, you convinced me it could not be the Jocelyn I knew—and perhaps I did not want to believe it. No one would wish for Valentine's return," he said, shaking his head. "When I sent for the Brothers of the Bone City this morning, I had no idea just what news we would have for them. When the Clave finds out Valentine may have returned, that he is seeking the Cup, there will be an uproar. I can only hope it does not disrupt the Accords."

"I bet Valentine would like that," Jace pointed out. Hoped for it probably. What with Valentine wanting nothing more than to kill all Downworlders and start a war, it was no wonder that he waited until now to do it. "But why does he want the Cup so badly?"

"Isn't that obvious?" he asked Jace surprised, his face ashen. "So he can build himself an army."

_An army? _Jace felt the alarm on his face as he looked at Hodge. "But that would never—"

"Dinnertime!"

Jace jumped lightly and turned to see Izzy standing in the doorway with her spoon in her hand. She was smiling broadly at all of them, but upon seeing the somber gazes that stared back, her smile began to falter. "Sorry if I'm interrupting," she added. Jace looked at Hodge and saw from the look on his face, that they were done discussing this for now.

With nothing but the prospect of Isabelle's dinner now, Jace closed his eyes and turned his head skyward. "Dear God," he said, shaking his head. "the dread hour is nigh." Maybe if he was lucky, God would perhaps grant him mercy and strike him down. Jace waited a second and then peeked out one eye. _Really? Nothing? So you're going to make me eat? _Jace sighed, wondering what he had done to incur God's wrath in the form of Isabelle's cooking.

And then there was Hodge, who looked absolutely petrified as he began to stammer. "I—I—I had a very filling breakfast—I mean lunch. A filling lunch. I couldn't possibly eat—"

"I threw out the soup," Isabelle rolled her eyes. "And ordered Chinese food from that place downtown."

_Oh, thank God!_ Jace was sure the relief was evident as he pushed himself away from Hodge's desk, stretching. "Great. I'm starved." He caught the incredulous look on Clary's face and gave her a reassuring smile—one he hoped she understood.

"I might be able to eat a bite," Hodge agreed, looking abashed.

"You two are terrible liars," Isabelle said irritably. "Look, I know you don't like my cooking—"

"Then stop doing it," Jace suggested logically. _For the love of all that is Holy, stop doing it! _Sensing her rant building up, he grinned and cut her off. "Did you order mu shu pork? You know I love mu shu pork."

Isabelle cast her eyes upward—praying for the patience to not beat him, Jace was sure. "Yes. It's in the kitchen," she said.

"Awesome!" As he passed by her, Jace shot out his hand to ruffle her hair and then ducked out the door.

In the kitchen, the warm and inviting smell of Chinese food filled the air, while they passed around the takeout cartons. Clary and Isabelle had caught up to Jace and Hodge in the hall, and found Simon sitting alone in the kitchen with what looked like an untouched bowl of peanut-fish soup nearby. Jace would have bet his ass that it was not untouched, though. Simon would have braved at least a bite of it for Isabelle. The poor bastard. With as much as Jace disliked Simon, not even he would have wished Isabelle's cooking on him. And then there was the fact that Simon was even there at all, something both Clary and Jace had seemed to forget. But When Jace had turned to explain, Hodge had thrown his hands up shaking his head; a gesture that very much said, _'I don't want to know right now.'_ When they sat down, Simon was quick to sit next to Clary, leaving Jace finding a spot on the other side of the table across from her, and next to Alec who had shown up as well. It was the first he had seen Alec since he had left him in the weapons room. He hoped he wasn't still mad about that.

Jace was the first to bring up what had happened to them, and then Hodge joined in shortly afterwards. While Jace was careful to leave out a few things, such as that Pangborn and Blackwell had killed his father—though that was only because Hodge was here, he also left out Hodge's secret about the curse. Hodge didn't offer up that information either. They had both also left out any mention of the Lightwoods being in the Circle, and their own punishment. Jace only visibly hesitated when he got to the part about Clary's mom and Valentine. He looked at her, wondering whether this was something she wanted shared, but to his surprise it was her who took over the story. When she finished she stabbed at the chow mien on her plate with her fork. Jace frowned as he watched her and the punishment she was doling out to the noodles. They never stood a chance.

"Well, I think it's romantic," Isabelle said suddenly as she took a drink of her tapioca pearl milk.

"What is?" Simon asked, his eyes gluing to her instantly and that ridiculous look back on his face. He was like a puppy dog, except not cute. At all. Jace was sure that if he were to whistle, Simon would probably wag his ass.

"That whole business about Clary's mother being married to Valentine," Izzy sighed wistfully. Clary's eyebrows raised as she looked at Isabelle now, but she didn't object or ask her to stop when she continued on. "So now he's come back from the dead and he's come looking for her. Maybe he want's to get back together."

Alec snorted. "I kind of doubt he sent a Ravener demon to her house because he wants to 'get back together.'"

Jace chuckled. "It wouldn't be my first move," he agreed. "First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, _then _the ravenous demon hordes." Catching Clary's eye, Jace saw the smile she was trying to fight back as she shook her head. "In that order." he added with a wink.

"He might have sent her candy and flowers," Isabelle insisted. "We don't know."

Jace looked at her, his brow lifted and an amused smile on his lips. Maybe he should be taking notes from Valentine if Isabelle really though that that were the case. Flowers? Check. Candy? Check. Poisonous demon that nearly killed her daughter? Check. Maybe persistence really does pay off. Or maybe Valentine was just a psycho that wanted to kill Downworlders and start a war with his kidnapped ex-wife by his side, but hey . . . every relationship had their problems, right?

It was Hodge who spoke now. "Isabelle," his voice a mask of patience. "This is the man who rained down destruction on Idris the like of which it had never seen, who set Shadowhunter against Downworlder and made the streets of the Glass City run with blood."

But Isabelle was unmoving. "That's sort of hot," she argued, "that evil thing."

At that very moment, Jace saw Simon's brow furrow and his lip curl up. What the hell was he trying to do? He looked constipated. Clary seemed to think so, too, because she was now staring at Simon like he had completely lost it. Seeing her glare, Simon ceased whatever absurd thing he was doing and, blushing red, asked, "So why does Valentine want this Cup so bad, and why does he think Clary's mom has it?"

Clary looked at Hodge and added, "You said it was so he could make an army. You mean because you can use the Cup to make Shadowhunters?"

Hodge nodded. "Yes."

At this, Simon seemed to perk up. "So Valentine could just walk up to any guy on the street and make a Shadowhunter out of him? Just with the Cup?" And then looking, directly at Hodge seeming to avoid the gaze of everyone else around him, Simon added, "Would it work on me?"

_Ha! Not on your life, mundie boy. _Besides, they were all full up on sexually frustrated males at the moment. Jace cast a glance at Alec. But Hodge was looking at Simon as if her sizing him up. Jace rolled his eyes and popped a pot sticker into his mouth.

"Possibly," Hodge answered finally. "But most likely, you're too old. The Cup works on children. An adult would either be unaffected by the process entirely, or killed outright." Simon sat back disheartened.

"A child army," Isabelle breathed, looking at Hodge as if the concept was impossible. Was she rethinking her previous idea that Valentine was a misunderstood hopeless romantic?

"Only for a few years," Jace corrected. "Kid's grow fast. It wouldn't be too long before they were a force to contend with."

"I don't know," Simon muttered as he stabbed a piece of orange chicken. "Turning a bunch of kids into warriors—I've heard of worse stuff happening. I don't see the big deal about keeping the Cup away from him."

Was he kidding? Jace glared at Simon with disbelief. And _this_ was just one of the many reasons why he disliked him. He was an ass. What, he couldn't be a Shadowhunter, so why bother getting the Cup back? He was about to say just that when Hodge spoke up.

"Leaving out that he would inevitably use this army to launch an attack on the Clave," he said dryly as if of the same opinion as Jace in that moment. "The reason that only a few humans are selected to be turned into Nephilim is that most people never survive the transition. It takes special strength and resilience. Before they can be turned, they must be extensively tested—but Valentine would never bother with that. He would use the Cup on any child he could capture, and cull out the twenty percent who survived to be his army."

Everyone was looking at Hodge now. Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. He could feel the anger swelling at Hodge's words, and was afraid he would start yelling. Looking at Clary, he saw that her face was unreadable; as if she were deep in thought. Alec, Isabelle, and Simon, however, stared in disbelief and shock. "How do you know he would do that?" Alec asked.

"Because," Hodge sighed, and Jace wondered how long it had been since he had spoken about this. Surely Robert and Mayrse would not want to speak of it—they were busy pretending as if nothing had happened. "When he was int he Circle, that was his plan. He said it was the only way to build the kind of force that was needed to defend our world."

"But that's murder," whispered Isabelle, her eyes wide. "He was talking about killing children."

But Hodge merely continued as if she had said nothing. "He said that we had made the world safe for humans for a thousand years and now was their time to repay us with their own sacrifice."

Jace's brows went up. Was he really suggesting that—would Valentine really have thought that—but Shadowhunter's didn't— "Their _children?" _he blurted. "That goes against everything we're supposed to be about. Protecting the helpless, safeguarding humanity—"

"Valentine was insane." Hodge cut him off. Pushing his plate away, he looked at each of them one by one. "Brilliant, but insane. He cared about nothing but killing demons and Downworlders. Nothing but making the world pure. He would have sacrificed his own son for the cause and could not understand how anyone else won't."

"He had a son?" Alec asked.

Hodge shook his head, and reached for the handkerchief that he kept in his pocket. "I was speaking figuratively." As he wiped his brow and returned it to pocket, Jace couldn't help but notice the swallow of his throat and the tremble of his fingers. "When his land burned, when his home was destroyed, it was assumed that he had burned himself and the Cup to ashes rather than relinquish either to the Clave. His bones were found in the ashes, along with the bones of his wife."

"But my mother lived." It was the first thing Clary had said in a while, and Jace's attention went to her immediately. She was tugging nervously on her light curls, her mouth pulled down into a frown. "She didn't die in that fire."

Hodge regarded her for a moment. "And neither, it seems now, did Valentine. The Clave will not be pleased to have been fooled. But more importantly, they will want to secure the Cup. And more importantly than that, they will want to make sure Valentine does not."

"It seems to me," Jace began slowly, meeting Clary's emerald orbs. "That the first thing we'd better do is find Clary's mother." At his words, Jace saw the flash of gratitude in her eyes. He locked his jaw and tore his gaze away from her, looking at Hodge now. "Find her, find the cup, get it before Valentine does." But Hodge was looking at him as if he were wearing a tutu and doing pirouettes—something Jace was sure, despite Hodge's glare, that he could pull off quite dashingly.

"Absolutely not," Hodge said.

"Then what do we do?" He asked. They couldn't just sit around and do—

"Nothing." Hodge was giving Jace a steady look now. The same look he wore when he was saying something that he meant to be both heard and followed. Jace was good at doing one of the two. "All this is best left to skilled, experienced Shadowhunters."

"I am skilled," Jace was insulted. "I _am _experienced." But Hodge was unmoving.

"I know that you are, but you're still a child—" Jace felt himself go rigid, anger flowing through his body. "—or nearly one."

Jace's eye's narrowed as he looked at Hodge, his lean muscle flexing in his arms as his fists clenched. He was seventeen—not a kid. And he was a Shadowhunter—one of the best. In fact, he had probably killed more demons than most Shadowhunters had. "I am not a child." his tone was even, but the anger was no doubt in it.

"Hodge is right." Jace closed his eyes as Alec spoke. He knew that his _Parabatai _meant well, but if he could just _not talk_ right now, that would be great. "Valentine is dangerous." Alec continued. _Of course not. _"I know you're a good Shadowhunter." Jace peeked out under his lashes at Alec, his eyes flashing dangerously. _Good?_ But Alec was unbothered by it. "You're probably the best our age," he shrugged. "But Valentine was one of the best there ever was. It took a huge battle to bring him down."

"And he didn't exactly stay down," Isabelle added. "Apparently."

Jace turned his icy glare to her, but she was busy not looking at him. Her fork was evidently incredibly interesting. Jace could feel the frustration building. Didn't they understand? He looked from Alec to Isabelle and then to Hodge and Clary. Clary was the only one that probably knew what he was feeling. The same men that had killed his father had taken her mother, and Jace was sure that both had occurred on the order of Valentine. "But we're here," Jace persisted. "We're here and because of the Accords, no one else is. If we don't do something—"

"We are going to do something," Hodge cut him off. "I'll send the Clave a message tonight. They could have a force of Nephilim here by tomorrow if they wanted. They'll take care of this. You have done more than enough."

Jace looked at each one of them again. They all seemed to be in agreement with Hodge—all of them but Clary. Her intense green gaze pierced him pleadingly. She was counting on him. But what could he do? "I don't like it." He had said it to everyone at the table, but his eye's never left her face—her set chin, her full lips, the curve of her throat as she swallowed.

Somewhere next to him, Alec was talking. "You don't have to like it. You just have to shut up and not do anything stupid."

Clary ripped her gaze away and focused on Alec now, her emerald fires blazing. "What about my mother?" she demanded. "She can't wait for some representative from the Clave to show up. Valentine has her right now—Pangborn and Blackwell said so—" she threw a fleeting glance at Jace when she said their names. "—and he could be. . ."

_Torturing her_, Jace finished silently as her voice fell silent, her sentence unfinished. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Neither could, it seemed, anyone else.

"Hurting her." It was Simon who finally spoke now. He was looking tenderly at Clary, his hand resting gently on her arm, and Jace had to bite back the urge to physically remove the mundane's fingers from her skin. "Except, Clary," Simon went on, "they also said she was unconscious and that Valentine wasn't happy about it. He seems to be waiting for her to wake up."

Yeah . . . and when she did, what then? Jace wondered.

"I'd stay unconscious if I were her," Isabelle mumbled into her drink, and Jace shot her a withering look.

"But that could anytime," Clary said to Simon. And then she turned to gaze at everyone. "I thought the Clave was pledged to protect people. Shouldn't there be Shadowhunters here right now? Shouldn't they already be searching for her?"

Jace nearly smiled as he felt Alec brittle next to him. "That would be easier," Alec snapped, "If we had the slightest idea where to look."

But she was right. Of course she was. That was exactly what they were supposed to be doing—what they had been trained to do, and now they were telling her that she would have to wait. That her mother would have to wait. He watched her as she glared at them all. She really could be fierce when he least expected it, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. She wasn't afraid to stand in a group of Shadowhunters and reprimand all of them. But if only she could remember what she had been made to forget; maybe then would they be able to at least get a starting point. He was almost sure that her mother might have shown her something—something she would later forget but was meant to remember if she someday had to. If someday Valentine came back. And then it hit him.

"But we do," said Jace as he used his fingers to pop another piece of mu shu pork into his mouth.

"You do?" she asked him, surprised but hopeful. "Where?"

Licking the sauce off his fingers, he quickly wiped them on his napkin and leaned forward. "Here." He touched her temple gently, her skin soft under his calloused fingers, and watched as her cheeks turned red. Her freckles became more pronounced when she blushed, he noticed. Lowering his hand, he continued. "Everything we need to know is locked up in your head, under those pretty red curls."

The corner of Jace's lip quirked upward as Clary's hand flew to her hair; her blush deepening as she met his eyes. "I don't think—"

"So what are you going to do?" Simon interrupted, glaring at Jace with loathing. "Cut her head open to get at it?"

Tearing his eyes away from Clary, his eyes flashed to the mundane—who was casting furious glances back and forth between the two of them. Had he really just asked that? With controlled calmness, Jace said. "Not at all. The Silent Brothers can help retrieve her memories."

"You hate the Silent Brothers," Isabelle objected.

Jace sighed as he turned to look at her. "I don't hate them," he said truthfully. But even as he said it, a shiver ran through him. "I'm afraid of them. It's not the same." He felt no shame in admitting that, as the Silent Brothers were something to be feared, and he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"I thought you said they were librarians." Clary said, her eyes wide.

"They are librarians." _So to speak._

Simon whistled. "Those must be some killer late fees."

"The Silent Brother's are archivists, but that is not all they are," Hodge said with growing agitation. "In order to strengthen their minds, they have chosen to take upon themselves some of the most powerful runes ever created. The power of these runes is so great that the use of them—" _Has made them cold as hell and creepy as fuck? _Jace wanted to offer as Hodge looked unsure how to finish. He shook his head and Jace saw a shiver pass through him. "Well, it warps and twists their physical forms. They are not warriors in the sense that other Shadowhunters are warriors. Their powers are of the mind, not the body." Hodge finished. Jace had preferred 'cold as hell and creepy as fuck,' but that would work too.

"They can read minds?" Clary asked timidly.

"Among other things," Hodge said gravely. "They are among the most feared of all demon hunters."

"I don't know," Simon shrugged his shoulders. "It doesn't sound so bad to me. I'd rather have someone mess around inside my head than chop it off."

"Then you're a bigger idiot than you look," Jace retorted scathingly. How could he not possibly know that there were some things worse than death.

"Jace is right," Isabelle cut in before Simon could respond. "The Silent Brothers _are_ really creepy."

"They are very powerful," Hodge whispered as if he had personally experienced it; his hand clenched on the table. Watching him, Jace wondered if they had taken part in the curse that bound him here. "They walk in darkness and do not speak, but they can crack open a man's mind the way you might crack open a walnut—and leave him screaming alone in the darkness if that is what they desire."

As Clary's horrified eyes met Jace's, he couldn't help but think that Hodge had not helped him with his case at all. "You want to give me to _them?" _She cried, running her fingers roughly through her hair.

But Jace was already leaning across the table toward her, his hands itching to stretch out and bring her curls back over her shoulders the way he liked it. "I want them to _help _you," he said earnestly. "Maybe we don't get to go look for the Cup," he said softly. He knew others were looking at him, but he only saw her. And it seemed—if just for this moment, that she only saw him too. "Maybe the Clave will do that. But what's in your mind belongs to you. Someone's hidden secrets there, secrets you can't see. Don't you want to know the truth about your own life?"

"I don't want someone else inside my head," she whispered, the quiver in her tone betraying her fear as her emerald orbs sparkled.

"I'll go with you." As he said it, Jace could see a flicker of relief cross her face and his heart began to pace loudly. "I'll stay with you while they do it." Her full lips trembled lightly, as she tugged on her curls. But she didn't look away from him. What the hell was going on between them? he wondered. And why did she have this effect on him? Wanting to say more—wanting to comfort her, Jace began to reach forward.

"That's enough."

It was Simon.

Clary's attention snapped quickly to her friend, her eyes wide. He was standing with his arms crossed glaring daggers at Jace, but Clary was the one that looked as if she had gotten caught doing something she shouldn't have. Jace lowered his hand, biting back hard to keep from chucking the mundane out the door. He had to work even harder to keep his face neutral.

"Leave her alone." Simon said.

Ignoring him, Jace looked at Clary and found that she was watching him again—searching his face. _Please, _he wanted to say. _Please do this. _He's not sure what she saw in him at that moment, but the trust in her eyes was palpable. And he knew then. Knew that she would do it.

"What are you still doing here, mundane?" Alec spoke suddenly from beside him. He sounded as if he had just noticed Simon.

But Simon didn't acknowledge Alec in the slightest, and spoke only to Jace. "I said, leave her alone."

Jace turned his head slowly, acid ripe in his eyes as he took in the mundane. He had had about enough of this asshole. He worried only briefly how Clary might react before saying, "Alec is right." he said, his tone calm but poisonous. "The Institute is sworn to shelter Shadowhunters, not their mundane friends. Especially when they've worn out their welcome."

And then he waited for the explosion from Clary that, to his surprise, didn't come. Instead, Isabelle jumped to her feet and took Simon by the arm. "I'll show him out."

Simon looked at Clary with shock and betrayal, his face red, before he squared his shoulders and allowed Isabelle to lead him from the room. And really, Jace didn't know if _'allowed'_ was really the appropriate word, as Isabelle would not have given him a choice. The silence in the room now was notable. Jace cautiously cast a glance at Clary to see whether she was about to explode, but from the looks of it, she wasn't. In fact, she wasn't doing anything. She sat quietly, starring at where Simon had just left with Isabelle. He was starting to worry as the second's ticked by, when suddenly her brow furrowed. _Here it comes, _he thought in relief.

Clary stood suddenly, almost looking dazed. "I'm tired," she said. "I want to go to sleep."

Jace couldn't hide his surprise. He began to sputter, looking for something to say. Something to keep her here. Reaching forward again, he pointed at her plate. "You've hardly eaten anything—" he began to protest, but Clary pushed aside his hand.

"I'm not hungry."

Before Jace could think to say anything else, she turned on her heel and stalked from the room, leaving Alec and Hodge looking after her in surprise. And leaving Jace incredibly confused. She hadn't seemed mad, but . . . he just didn't understand it.

"What the hell was that about?" Alec wondered.

Jace turned to look at Alec, composing his features as he did so. "Well, my guess would be that she was tired." He had said it as though he were unfazed. Bored almost.

"I'm not talking about that." Alec said staring at him. "And even if I had been, I wouldn't buy this whole indifferent thing your doing now. No, I was talking about that crap before. _'I'll go with you. I'll stay by your side._' Did you even notice we were still here?"

_No._ "Of course." Jace said sitting back and looking at his _Parabatai. _"I think Clary's mother showed her things before having her forget. We need her memories—_she _needs her memories. Hodge, tell him."

Hodge watched them both without a word, his mouth working as though he wanted to say something but was thinking better of it. "Jace," he said finally. "If what you told her was done with the sole purpose of getting her to agree to see the Silent Brothers, then well done. But don't forget that while the Silent Brothers may . . ." Hodge chewed on his lip, trying to decide how to continue. "While they may _mean _well, do not think for a second that she will necessarily be safe. She may not come out the same as when she went in."

Jace chewed on the inside of his cheek. He had not told Clary that he would be with her just to get her to go. He had told her that, because . . . well, because he couldn't imagine _not _being with her wherever she was. But how was he supposed to tell them that? How could he possibly make them understand that he, who had never been fazed by a woman—had never had a real girlfriend because he had never wanted one, was going completely insane over a girl. Especially when he didn't understand it either. Suddenly the days activities weighed on him heavier than before, and he slumped in his chair. A hot shower and his bed. That's what sounded good right now. Jace didn't bother to reply to Hodge, nor did he look at Alec as he rose to his feet. Walking toward the door, he saw Clary's small red backpack lying on the floor. Swooping down, he didn't slow as he scooped it up and left the kitchen.

Jace had every intention of returning it to her, and he stood in the dimly lit corridor wondering which way she might have gone. He supposed that she would head back to the infirmary, and turned to head that way when he saw a dark shape that lay curled on the floor next to the wall. Walking to it, his heart began to hammer. "Clary?" kneeling next to her, he saw that she was laying on her side, a strand of hair laying across her face—her breathing steady. With startled amusement, Jace realized she was sleeping. He smiled. She must have been exhausted. Getting up, he poked his head back into the kitchen.

"Hodge? Can I speak with you for a moment?" Hodge jumped and then turned to look at him at the same time that Alec's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't worry," Jace added, "It's nothing bad."

Shrugging, Alec went back to his food. Jace walked back into the hall and leaned against the wall where Clary slept. When Hodge came out, he gave a small laugh at the sleeping girl.

"Guess she wasn't joking when she said she was tired," Hodge smiled, looking down at her. "Well, we could take her back to the infirmary, but I think she would be more comfortable in her own room." Bending down, Hodge began to reach for her—whether to wake her or carry her, Jace wasn't sure.

He put his hand on Hodge's shoulder, stopping him. "I'll carry her."

Hodge didn't argue, nor did he look surprised, and he stepped back. Handing Hodge Clary's backpack, Jace bent down and took her lightly in his arms. She stirred at being jostled, but then rested her head against Jace's shoulder, her breath hot against his neck. The last time Jace had carried her like this, he had been running through the streets and she had been dying in his arms. Now she was peaceful. It also seemed that no matter how many times he held her, she would always fit familiarly against his body. He turned to Hodge and nodded. Together they made their way down the corridor. Jace could have walked faster if he had wanted to—she weighed next to nothing, but instead he walked slowly; drawing out the time he held her. Hodge didn't seem to mind their slow pace either. As they walked, Clary stirred only once more in his arms as her hand farthest from his body slid up his chest and cupped his neck sending goosebumps racing along his skin and his heart into a frenzy. He pulled her in tighter against himself.

"Here we are," Hodge said, opening a door—the hallway familiar to Jace, whose own bedroom was only a few doors down. Hodge flipped on a light switch, bathing the room in a soft glow and set her backpack down against the wall. He made his way toward the bed as Jace stepped in behind him, and pulled down the linens. "Do you need help lowering her?" he asked.

Jace shook his head in response, but he noticed that Hodge didn't move far just in case. Propping a knee on the mattress to steady himself, Jace lowered Clary gently to the bed; her hand slipping from his neck as she went. After making sure that her head rested comfortably on the pillow, he hesitated briefly looking at the tank top and cords she wore. They probably weren't going to be the most comfortable things to sleep in, but he wasn't going to strip her either. So they would have to do. Instead, he gently removed her shoes and socks, placing them on a nearby chair, before pulling the blankets around her and tenderly brushing her hair out of her face. She was his Sleeping Beauty all over again—only this time, he didn't need to kiss her awake.

As he leaned back he saw Hodge watching him, a curious look on his face. Jace would have said something, but with the hammering of his heart and the flips his stomach was doing, he didn't trust himself. Besides, Hodge didn't seem to expect an explanation. Together, they made their way from the room, Hodge shutting off the light as he went. Jace closed the door and then raked his fingers through his hair.

"You need to send for the Silent Brothers," Jace said.

"Jace," Hodge began kindly. "She didn't agree to—"

But Jace was already stopping him. "She will." And then he added, "Look, just send for them; and when they get here, she can decide if she want's their help or not. It _should_ be her choice."

Hodge looked at him thoughtfully. "I will think about it," he sighed. "I can't promise you more than that. Now, go—get yourself some sleep before you, too, pass out in the hall. Because what I _can _promise you, is that I will leave you there for the night."

Nodding, Jace smiled and stumbled exhausted down the hall towards his own room.

In his bathroom, the steam from the shower began to fill the air as Jace kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt gingerly over his head; looking down at the bruises that had yet to completely fade in the process. The _iratze_ Jace had done earlier was really good at mending the shallower cuts and scrapes instantly. It was the deeper wounds that sometimes took longer to heal. Though his arm had been repaired instantly, it was still tender from having been broken in the first place. And now a dull ache spread through it from having carried Clary to her room. It had been worth it. He stretched it out and then rolled his shoulders. Leaning toward the mirror, he eye'd the golden skin that covered his lean muscles carefully, noting that any left over bumps and bruises would be gone by tomorrow. Stripping out of his jeans, Jace turned and got into the shower.

"Jace?"

"Jace."

A groan escaped his lips as he rolled over and looked toward the door where only a sliver of light sliced through the otherwise dark room. Though he was only a shadow, Jace recognized Hodge's voice calling him. Jace grunted to let Hodge know he was awake.

"One of the Silent Brothers—Brother Jeremiah will be here shortly." Hodge said. "And if you intend to be with Clary, as you said last night, then you may want to get ready while I go wake her up."

Jace sat up, blinking away the sleep. "I'll wake her."

Hodge was quiet for a moment, and then, "If that is what you'd prefer, but do so quickly. We will be in the library." And then the door began to close.

"Hodge?" Jace called out suddenly, and though he couldn't see him, the door had paused letting him know that he was there still. "What made you decide—" Jace shook his head. He didn't care why Hodge had changed his mind. "Thank you for waking me," he said instead.

Jace watched as the door hung open for a moment and then was soundlessly pulled closed. Jace swung out of bed—his feet hitting the cold hard wood floor as he looked at his clock: 4:45 a.m. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He said to the empty room, glaring at where Hodge had just stood in his doorway. Maybe he wasn't as thankful after all. Shaking his head and yawning, he stretched and then stumbled his way to the bathroom in order to brush his teeth and relieve himself. He then went to his closet and threw on his Shadowhunter gear.

The halls were still just as darkly lit as they had been last night, looking as if no time had actually passed since he had tucked Clary into bed. And he was still half asleep. He would have killed Hodge if he hadn't known that he had no control over when the Silent Brothers arrived—the discourteous bastards. Knocking softly on the door, Jace waited but heard only silence from within. He slowly opened the door and peered in. Clary was right where he had left her, looking just as peaceful. Raking his hand through his hair, he made his way silently to her, and sat on the edge of her bed. Her red curls were splayed out on the pillow around her, and the blankets had been pushed down to her waist at some point. One hand rested on her stomach the other one crooked up toward her face. She was smiling, and he wondered what she saw behind those delicate lavender eyelids.

And then she whispered his name, the smile still on her lips.

Jace's stomach knotted as a shiver ran through him. He watched her for a moment, but she didn't say anything else. He looked at her clock—five to five—and he knew Hodge was waiting for them. "Clary?" he said softly, and her brow furrowed. But she did not wake up. Leaning in closer, he brushed a strand of hair aside. "Wake up, Clary," he said, louder this time as he cupped her arm and shook her gently. And then he was rearing back as her hands began swinging wildly at his face. _Oh, for the love of the Angel!_ Reaching forward, he blocked one of her blows as he grabbed her wrists firmly to stop her attack. Even when asleep she wanted to rip his head off, he mused. Perhaps she dreamed of assaulting him. Clary bolted up, her face stopping inches from Jace's. He could feel her tugging back on her wrists, as she blinked at him in surprise.

"Jace?" She sounded confused, her breathing hitched, as her eyes began to focus in the dimly lit room. She was no longer trying to free her wrists.

"Yeah."

And then they sat there in silence for a moment as she looked down at her wrists that he still held captive, her ruby curls falling forward over her eyes. Jace had to fight the urge to reach forward and push them out of her face. Finally she looked up at him. He saw neither anger or amusement in her eyes, just exhaustion. "Let go of me."

He looked down where his hands held hers. "Sorry," he breathed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he released her. "You tried to hit me the second I said your name."

She looked at him flabbergasted and then shook her head. "I'm a little jumpy, I guess." Clary looked around the room she was in now, her confusion growing. Jace watched, biting the inside of his cheek. "How did I get here?" She asked finally, turning her emerald eyes back to him. "I don't remember. . ."

"I found you asleep on the floor in the hallway," he said with a hint of a smile. "Hodge helped me get you into bed. Thought you'd be more comfortable in a guest room than an infirmary."

Clary ran her fingers through her hair. "Wow. I don't remember anything." And she looked around again. "What time is it, anyway?"

"About five."

"In the _morning?"_ She sputtered, glaring at him. "You'd better have a good reason for waking me up."

Unable to resist, he grinned and asked, "Why, were you having a good dream?"

"I don't remember," she said quickly. But Jace had seen the blush rise to her cheeks as she cast her eyes downward. He waited, but when she said nothing else, he shrugged. He hadn't really expected her to tell him, but she didn't need to either. She had said his name in her sleep. Had said it with a smile. _Don't go jumping to conclusions, _a small voice in the back of Jace's mind told him. _She was probably dreaming of mauling you. _

Jace stood up, shaking away the thought. "One of the Silent Brothers is here to see you," he ran his fingers through his hair. "Hodge sent me to wake you up. Actually, he offered to wake you up himself, but since its five a.m.—" He turned and grinned wickedly at her. "—I figured you'd be less cranky if you had something nice to look at."

Her brow arched. "Meaning you?"

"What else?" He asked with devastating charm, holding his arms out so she could get a full view. A faint smile played on her lips as she looked up at him.

And then she frowned. "I didn't agree to this, you know. This Silent Brother thing."

Jace sighed. Were they really doing this again? Maybe she hadn't verbally agreed to it last night, but it had been there in her eyes. He had seen it. "Do you want to find your mother," he asked, "or not?" When she said nothing, Jace went to sit next to her again. "You just have to meet Brother Jeremiah, thats all," he said, his tone gentle. But when she still didn't seem sure, he tried humor. "You might even like him. He's got a great sense of humor for a guy who never says anything."

Clary groaned, putting her head in her hands. Without looking up, she told him, "Get out. Get out so I can change."

Jace smiled and left her room, closing the door softly behind him and then leaning against the wall across the hall. He looked down as something brushed against his leg. "Oh hell no, cat." Jace hissed irritably, glaring at Church. But Church was mewing softly, rubbing against his leg again. "No." Jace said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "I don't care if they creep you out. You should have thought of that _before_ you decided to try and screw me last night."

The door across from him opened, and he had to keep his mouth from dropping open. She had changed into a pair of short cutoffs and a black t-shirt. How could she make something that should be simple and comfortable, look sexy? The only thing he would change was the ponytail she had thrown her ringlets in. It didn't look bad by any means—far from it. It just wasn't what he had come to prefer. Not that he would tell her that.

Clary looked down at Church who was now circling Jace's legs with agitation. "What's with the cat?"

"The Silent Brothers make him nervous," he answered.

"Sounds like they make everyone nervous."

If only she knew. Jace tried to smile, but it came out tight and thin. As they headed down the hall, Jace noticed that Church stayed behind. You know it was bad when even the pets stayed away. They walked in silence. Even though it was still somewhat cool in the early morning, Jace knew that would change in just a few short hours and that he would be regretting his clothing choice. While Shadowhunter gear was light and airy, it was still black. And black tended to get real hot, real quick. As they reached the library, he opened the door for Clary and then stepped in quickly behind her. The lamps were all off, and Jace felt a chill run through him despite the heat as he blinked into the unlit room. Ahead, Hodge was sitting behind his desk and near him—Jace shivered—was Brother Jeremiah cloaked in the darker shadows of the already dark room.

It wasn't until Brother Jeremiah had moved out of the shadows in the weird mute way that Silent Brothers did, that Jace heard Clary's sharp intake of breath and realized that she must not have seen him before that. The heavy rune hemmed robe he wore was parchment colored and concealed him completely. Even his hood was raised to hide his face; something Jace was thankful for.

It was then that Hodge spoke. "This is Brother Jeremiah of the Silent City." Jace locked his jaw, fighting his own unease as Brother Jeremiah turned toward them. The good news was that Clary hadn't turned and run—yet. Though, standing right behind her he could see the tension in her shoulders. "And this, Jeremiah," Hodge continued, "is the girl I wrote to you about. Clarissa Fray."

"Hello," Clary's voice was small, and Brother Jeremiah did not return the greeting—not that Jace had thought he would.

"I decided you were right, Jace," Hodge said, meeting Jace's eyes as he answered the question he had nearly asked before.

"I _was_ right," Jace stated as if this should be obvious. "I usually am."

But Hodge went on as if Jace had not said anything. "I sent a letter to the Clave about all this last night, but Clary's memories are her own. Only she can decide how she wants to deal with the contents of her head. If she wants the help of the Silent Brothers, she should have that choice."

Jace nodded and looked back to Brother Jeremiah. His cloaked head was still turned toward them—toward Clary. She had said nothing since uttering her hello, and he wondered what she was thinking. Whatever it was, he was sure it would end up being what he least expected. And then Brother Jeremiah spoke though Jace knew that his lips never parted.

_This is Jocelyn's daughter?_

The words echoed through Jace's head as they had through everyone's. Clary, gasping, took a step back right into Jace. His hand came forward automatically, cupping her upper arm reassuringly. He was used to this form of communication from them, but for someone who wasn't, he supposed it could be disorienting.

"Yes," Hodge said. He then quickly added, "but her father was a mundane."

_That does not matter, _said Jeremiah. _The blood of the Clave is dominant. _

_"_Why did you call my mother Jocelyn?" Clary asked suddenly, her boldness surprising Jace. "Did you know her?"

But it was Hodge who answered her. "The Brothers keep records on all members of the Clave," he explained. "Exhaustive records—"

"Not that exhaustive," Jace said flatly. "if they didn't even know she was still alive."

_It is likely that she had the assistance of a warlock in her disappearance. Most Shadowhunters cannot so easily escape the Clave._

"There's something I don't understand," Clary persisted, and Jace had to hide his smile. That was his Clary. Always asking questions. "Why would Valentine think my mom had the Mortal Cup? If she went through so much trouble to disappear, like you said, then why would she bring it with her?"

"To keep him from getting his hands on it," Hodge replied. "She above all people would have known what would happen if Valentine had the Cup. And I imagine she didn't trust the Clave to hold on to it. Not after Valentine got it away from them in the first place."

"I guess." She frowned.

Letting go of her arm, Jace walked around to stand beside her. The doubt in her voice was evident. It seemed that Hodge was able to hear it too, as he continued. "Jocelyn turned against her husband when she found out what he intended to do with the Cup," he said. "It's not unreasonable to assume she would do everything in her power to keep the Cup from falling into his hands. The Clave themselves would have looked first to her if they'd thought she was still alive."

Jace looked down at her and saw her tugging on her curls. "It seems to me," Clary's voice was sharp. "that no one the Clave thinks is dead is ever actually dead. Maybe they should invest in dental records."

Was she really complaining because the Clave had gotten it wrong and her mother _wasn't _dead like they had thought? Jace was trying to understand her frustration—trying to see where she was coming from, but all the same he couldn't stop his own irritation. Couldn't she just be happy that instead of being dead like his father, she was simply missing? "My father's dead," he said with the same sharpness. "I don't need dental records to tell me that."

Clary spun to face him, her eyes wide. "Look, I didn't mean—"

_That is enough. _Brother Jeremiah cut her off. _There is truth to be learned here, if you are patient enough to listen to it. _

And in one swift motion, he drew his hood back, revealing his face. Jace blanched, but managed to keep his face straight. His smooth bald head was egg-shell white, and his eyes were gone, the lids having become indented without them there. Runes had been Marked on his lips in a criss-cross pattern. Clary took an automatic step toward Jace, but was staring wide eyed at Jeremiah. Jace wondered if she realized that she had even done it. Jeremiah was unfazed.

_The Brothers of the Silent City do not lie, _he said._ If you want the truth from me, you shall have it, but I shall ask the same of you in return. _

"I'm not a liar, either," Clary said vehemently.

_The mind cannot lie. _And Jace stiffened as he moved toward her; his urge to protect Clary strong. But Jeremiah meant her no harm. He bit the inside of his cheek as Brother Jeremiah continued. _It is your memories that I want._

Panic filled Clary's eyes as she looked up at Brother Jeremiah. "Wait—" she cried out. She was against Jace now, and he had to clenched his fists at his sides and dig his heels into the ground to keep from throwing himself in front of her.

"Clary," Hodge said softly, coming forward. "It's entirely possible that there are memories you have buried or repressed, memories formed when you were too young to have conscious recollection of them, that Brother Jeremiah can reach. It could help us a great deal."

Jace was shaking now—if ever so slightly. He knew Hodge was trying to help, but it felt more like he was prodding her into doing it. Was that what he had sounded like last night? This was his idea . . . this is what _he_ had asked her to do . . . but, seeing the look of terror on her face—watching as Jeremiah advanced on her like easy prey, and listen as Hodge stood there and told her that it was okay, important, even to have her mind attacked—it no longer sounded like she was being given a choice.

"She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do," Jace asked suddenly, looking from Hodge to Brother Jeremiah. "Does she?"

_Your concern is noble, but she has nothing to fear. _

Jace knew that Jeremiah was speaking solely to him now, and that no one else could hear his words. He gazed at the stark white face of the Silent Brother, his jaw locking. _I hope not, _Jace thought, knowing that Jeremiah had heard him.

"It's all right." Clary said next to him. "I'll do it." She was looking up at him now, her eyes betraying the fear that the determination in her voice had masked. But before Jace could tell her what he thought one way or the other, She had already stepped away from him and Jeremiah had closed in on her. "Will it hurt?" he heard her breathe.

Jace crossed his arms anxiously as Jeremiah wordlessly pressed his fingers against her temples. Clary's eyes snapped closed, and her brow furrowed. The silence was intense, and he shot a quick glance at Hodge who looked like he might be sick. Turning his gaze back to Clary, he saw that her head was jerking back and forth as if she were trying to shake off Jeremiah's fingers. His heart began hammering. This was wrong. This was all wrong. They shouldn't have done this—he shouldn't have suggested it. She gasped in pain her body twitching as her hand's—_oh God, her hands._ A thread of blood had escaped her tightly clenched fists.

"That's _enough._" Jace demanded with calm fury. To his relief, Jeremiah lowered his hands and Clary's eyes flickered open. He bit down on his cheek as she winced, looking down at her wounded palms; and he felt cold inside as a tendril of beaded sweat traced down her neck. How could he possibly tell her how sorry he was for making this suggestion?

_"Jace," _Hodge hissed, his eyes flashing. It was probably not common practice to interrupt a Silent Brother, which must have been why Jeremiah had released as quickly as he had. But Jace didn't care.

"Look at her hands," he said with forced calmness as he gestured to Clary, who was now trying to hide her injured palms.

Frowning, Hodge put a hand on Clary's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

_Of course she's not! _Jace wanted to shout. And really, what he wanted to do was knock Hodge's hand off her shoulder, pick her up, and run away with her. Instead, he could only watched as she nodded weakly. Jace turned his glare to Jeremiah, who was standing just as indifferent as ever. But slowly, as if knowing he were being stared at, Jeremiah tuned his head toward Jace.

_It would be unwise to do that again._

Again, Jace knew that no one but him had heard that. And while Jeremiah's voice was not angry, there was a warning in his tone. Jeremiah then turned his head back to Clary, leaving Jace biting back on a retort.

_There is a block in your mind, _he said, this time for everyone to hear. _Your memories cannot be reached._

"A block?" asked Jace, his brows raising as he looked at Clary. "You mean she's repressed her memories?"

_No. I mean they have been blocked from her conscious mind by a spell. I cannot break it here. She will have to come to the Bone City and stand before the Brotherhood._

_No._ Jace thought vehemently as he felt the blood drain from his face. But next to him, Clary was staring wide eyed at Brother Jeremiah. "A _spell?"_ she asked in disbelief. "Who would have put a spell on me?"

But nobody was answering her, because nobody knew. _No,_ Jace thought again as Jeremiah turned his head toward him. But Jeremiah did not respond this time. Shaking his head, Jace stared at Hodge, who was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. Take her to the City of Bones? Was he nuts? Surely Hodge wouldn't go for this—if she had felt that much pain with just one Silent Brother, then who knew what kind of damage a group of them would cause her. "Hodge," Jace said, almost pleadingly. "She shouldn't have to go if she doesn't—"

"It's all right," Clary said suddenly, and Jace closed his eyes—the air leaving his body. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She was frowning, but she was no longer scared. And as she lifted her gaze to meet his, he saw that her emerald fires were burning. _Shit._

"I'll go." And now she was speaking to Jace—no one else. "I want to know the truth. I want to know what's in my head," she whispered.

Jace bit the inside of his cheeks, his arms crossing. He wished he had never thought of this. All the same, he knew that look. It had become as familiar to him as the sunrise, and he knew she wasn't going to change her mind. Jace nodded once. "Fine." His voice was tense. "Then I'll go with you."

Clary only nodded as if she had wouldn't have expected anything less from him.

#####

Not enough time had passed for the sun to rise yet, so one would think that it would be at least slightly cool outside. But even the shadows of the tall New York buildings couldn't keep the humidity from pressing down on them. Jace had been right about his black gear bringing him discomfort, but he didn't show it as he looked up and down the road where only a garbage truck ambled along slowly. Clary fidgeted next to him. After she had agreed to go to the Bone City, and they had been excused to get ready, Jace had pulled her aside to ask if she was really sure that she wanted to do this—knowing even then what her answer would be. As determined as she was, though, he also knew that she was terrified and seeing him anxious didn't help. So he was now trying to match her apprehension with calm humor.

"I don't see why we have to leave separately from Brother Jeremiah," Clary complained, not for the first time. "What, is he embarrassed to be seen with Shadowhunters or something?"

Jace looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. It was the first time he had heard her refer to herself as a Shadowhunter, and yet he doubted that she even realized what she had said. She was too busy being hot and grumpy. "The Brotherhood _are _Shadowhunters," he reminded her, and then smiled. She looked like she wanted to slap him.

"I suppose he went to get his car?" She retorted sarcastically.

Jace had to bite back on his laughter at her irritation. "Something like that," he grinned. It was nothing at all like that, though. The Silent Brothers—amazingly powerful and hellishly creepy as they were—lacked the ability to get with the times.

But Clary wasn't listening. She had started pacing again, shaking her head as she went. "You know, I'd feel a lot better about this if Hodge had come with us?"

"What, Im not protection enough for you?" Jace asked casually, looking up the road again. If she hadn't been such a hot mess right now, he might have taken offense to her words. But he knew she was just nervous.

"It's not protection I need right now—it's someone who can help me think." She gasped suddenly, and Jace snapped his head to her as she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh—Simon!"

"No, I'm Jace," he said calmly, though his stomach had done a somersault at the muffled name. "Simon is the weaselly little one with the bad haircut and dismal fashion sense." He added lightly, unable to help himself.

"Oh, shut up," she said absentmindedly. She was pacing again. "I meant to call before I went to sleep. See if he got home okay."

Jace stared at her dumbfounded. She was about to have her mind rummaged through like a yard sale on a Saturday by freakishly weird men . . . and she was worried about a mundane? Shaking his head, he turned his face toward the sky. _Why? _He asked the heavens above him._ I mean, seriously . . . what do I—how do I . . . oh screw it, she probably confuses the shit out of you, too. _Jace closed his eyes, as he said out loud, "With everything that's going on, you're worried about Weasel Face?"

"Don't call him that." She snapped. "He doesn't look like a weasel."

And then Jace was irritated. Couldn't it just ever be enough that _he_ was here with her? That he _wanted_ to be here with her? His eyes flashed as he looked at her, but his voice remained casual. "You may be right," he smiled. "I've met an attractive weasel or two in my time. He looks more like a rat."

"He does not—"

But Jace was already cutting her off, his casual tone making the viscousness of his words that much worse. "He's probably at home lying in a puddle of his own drool. Just wait till Isabelle gets bored with him and you have to go pick up the pieces."

Clary had stopped pacing now, and looked at Jace with hurt surprise. "Is Isabelle likely to get bored with him?"

This pulled him up short. She had not asked in the way a jealous girl might ask, but as a person who was truly concerned for her friend. She seemed to truly hope that that wouldn't be the case, simply because she didn't want Simon to get hurt. Jace sighed, thinking about what he had just said. Would Isabelle walk all over Simon? "Yes," he said truthfully.

And then Clary was moving again, looking upset now. Jace sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, if its any consolation . . . Simon—" It took all he had to say the name kindly. "—will be better off without her. She doesn't exactly have the best reputation anyway."

But Clary said nothing. Looking at her, Jace saw that she was still pacing, her eyes somewhere else—somewhere far away. _Had she seriously not been listening?_ The one time he says something remotely nice about the stupid mundane and she's off in another world! Jace shook his head and watched as deep in thought, she brought a slender finger to her mouth and traced her full bottom lip. His heart stopped. Arching his brow, his stomach flipped with that one tiny movement. And then she met his eyes and he couldn't help the wry grin that spread across his face.

"What?" Clary asked irritably, lowering her hand.

But Jace could only laugh. "I wish you'd stop desperately trying to get my attention like this," he said, knowing that she had no clue what he was talking about. "It's become embarrassing."

"Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt," she smirked.

"I can't help it," Jace said in mock sorrow, taking a step back into the street. "I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain."

Clary wasn't amused. "Your inner pain will be outer soon if you don't get out of traffic. Are you trying to get run over by a cab?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jace scoffed. "We could never get a cab in this neighborhood." All the same, he found himself stepping back up on the curb.

A moment later, Jace heard the clopping of hooves and turned to see the giant black horses of the Brotherhood. Jeremiah was seated on the sleek bench seat with the reins in his hands, and behind him was the large carriage as black as obsidian. He threw an amused sidelong glance at Clary. Having asked a long ago, he knew that they glamoured their transportation as a limousine, but he wondered if she would be able to see beyond that. Turning her head to look at Jace, she raised her brows, and then looked back at the horses with a frown. Suddenly her eyes widened, her mouth falling open. Jace smiled and pulled open the carriage door. "Get in."

But she didn't. She didn't move at all. Sighing, Jace grabbed her arm and half-helped—half-pushed her through the door, before jumping in himself and taking his seat next to her. Thankfully, it seemed to be a few degrees cooler in the dark carriage. Pushing his golden hair out of his eyes, he looked over at Clary who was taking in the satin upholstery. "A personal escort to the Bone City is nothing to turn your nose up at." he chided, though he knew that wasn't what she had been doing.

"I wasn't turning my nose up," she said defensively. "I was just surprised. I wasn't expecting . . . I mean, I thought it was a car."

He could see the tension in her shoulders as she sat ramrod straight, looking out the window. "Just relax," he urged. "Enjoy that new carriage smell."

Clary rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Jace closed his eyes, and allowed himself to become one with the steady rocking and swaying of the coach. He wasn't sure what he thought or hoped would happened now that they were on their way to the Silent City, but there was no going back for either of them. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't curious about what secrets Clary's mind held, but at what cost would those secrets come. It would be one thing if he could pay the price for her, but he couldn't. Next to him, Clary sucked in her breath and Jace peeked out under his lashes at her. She was staring out the window, shaking her head. "I always thought cab drivers didn't pay attention to traffic, but this is ridiculous," she muttered.

Jace smiled with understanding. "Just because you can see through glamour now. . ." he trailed off, and he saw that she understood. But she was still shaking her head.

"I can only see through it when I concentrate," she said. "It hurts my head a little."

"I bet it's because of that block in your mind," Jace said, locking his fingers behind his head. "The Brothers will take care of that."

"Then what?" she asked, her calm tone trembling ever so slightly.

Jace turned his head to her, locking his jaw. _If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is . . . _and he gave her a dry smile."Then you'll see the world as it is—Infinite."

"Don't quote Blake at me," she snapped.

He smiled genuinely now, his eyes sparkling. "I didn't think you'd recognize it." he said impressed. "You don't strike me as someone who reads a lot of poetry."

"Everyone knows that quote because of the Doors."

Wait, was she talking about the doors to perception as the poem said? He stared at her blank face. Yeah, he didn't think so. Her brow lifted as he said nothing.

"The Doors," she said slowly. "They were a band."

A band that quoted Blake? "If you say so," Jace shrugged, mentally tucking away the name so that he could look them up later.

"I suppose you don't have much time for enjoying music in your line of work," she said this as if it were meant to be both a joke and a question. Did she honestly think demon slaying was the only thing he did? That he had no interests outside the exhaustive efforts of keeping the world safe.

He couldn't help himself now, and he shrugged. "Maybe the occasional wailing chorus of the damned." He had said this with such absolute seriousness that Clary turned to look at him, her eyes searching his unwaveringly expressionless face.

She shook her head unsure. "But you were playing the piano yesterday," she said slowly. And Jace couldn't help but think that yesterday seemed like ages ago. But she continued, "At the Institute. So you must—"

But at that moment, the carriage reared upward causing Clary to let out a small gasp and grab at the edge of her seat. Jace watched lazily as the upper floors of apartments rolled by at eye level now. It really was convenient that they could just move along the top of the vehicles in their way. Especially since only New York would have this much traffic, this early in the morning.

Jace sighed. "I was just messing around," he said, still looking out the window. "My father insisted I learn to play an instrument."

"He sounds strict, your father." Clary whispered.

Jace became incensed. Is that what she thought? She didn't know him to make such a statement. "Not at all," he said sharply. "He indulged me. He taught me everything—weapons training, demonology, arcane lore, ancient languages. He gave me anything I wanted. Horses, weapons, books, even a hunting falcon." But he could see the knowing look on her face now and it was maddening. What could she possibly know?

But she was already moving on. "Why didn't you mention to Hodge that you knew the men that Luke was talking to?"

And Jace was pulled up short. He knew the meaning behind her question, he just didn't know how to answer it—not without scaring her. He looked down at his hands, the 'W' of his family ring glistening in the sunlight that shone through the window. His father may not have been the most patient or loving man; and he may not have had the softest touch—but Jace bore those emotional scars silently. He loved his father. And in some way, he knew his father had loved him. But then . . . to love was to destroy. And he _had_ been destroyed. He turned the ring on his finger, not looking up. "Because if I did," he finally said, not the least bit surprised that he was telling her the truth now. "He'd know I wanted to kill Valentine myself. And he'd never let me try."

Clary was quiet, but Jace could feel her eyes on him. He continued twisting the ring around his finger. Finally she said, "You mean you want to kill him for revenge."

"For justice," Jace corrected, still unable to meet her gaze. He couldn't remember the last time he had opened himself like this in front of someone—_for_ someone. "I never knew who had killed my father. Now I do. This is my chance to make it right."

"But you knew who killed him," Clary said softly. "It was those men. You said. . ."

Jace looked out the window then, and her voice tailed off. Didn't she get it? _He_ had gotten it as soon as they had talked to Hodge last night, so he couldn't understand how it was that she hadn't. Yes, Pangborn and Blackwell had struck the killing blow against his father, but it had been Valentine who ordered it—just as Valentine had ordered them to kidnap her mother. If someone put a gun in a monkeys hand, and he shoots it—you don't blame the monkey or the gun. You blame the person who put the gun in its hand. But even putting that aside—say that Clary's mother had never been taken—it wouldn't change the fact that he had been left orphaned because of Valentine. That he had hidden like a—he bit down on his cheek.

"I was ten," his voice was void of emotion—his face blank, as he said it. Only his heart beating rapidly could give him away. He hadn't spoken of this in years, but he wanted her to know. Needed her to understand _why_ he had to kill Valentine. "We lived in a manor house, out in the country. My father always said it was safer away from people." _How wrong he had been, _Jace thought bitterly. "I heard them coming up the drive and went to tell him. He told me to hide, so I hid. Under the stairs. I saw those men come in. They had others with them. Not men. Forsaken. They overpowered my father and cut his throat. The blood ran across the floor. It soaked my shoes. I didn't move."

It was a moment before Clary spoke, but when she did it set his teeth on edge. "I'm so sorry, Jace."

Pity.

He didn't want her pity, _or _her unnecessary apology.

His eyes flashed as he worked hard to control his temper. "I don't understand why mundanes always apologize for things that aren't their fault."

"I'm not apologizing," she said, her voice calm. "It's a way of—empathizing. Of saying that I'm sorry you're unhappy."

He looked at her now; her eyes burning with sincerity, her body turned toward his as if she might reach for him. Jace shook his head, confused. "I'm not unhappy," he said truthfully. His father's death had been tragic, this was true. But it had made him strong and given him something to aim for. "Only people with no purpose are unhappy. I've got a purpose."

"Do you mean killing demons," she asked, "or getting revenge for your father's death?"

"Both." Jace said without hesitation as he looked out the window again.

"Would your father really want you to kill those men? Just for revenge?"

Jace had to bite back his harsh laughter. _Oh, yeah,_ he thought. His father would be disappointed that it had taken him this long to do so. "A Shadowhunter who kills another of his brothers is worse than a demon and should be put down like one," he said, repeating the words Hodge had once told him.

"But are all demons evil?" Clary asked. "I mean, if all vampires aren't evil, and all werewolves aren't evil, maybe—"

"It's not the same thing at all." Jace turned to face her, his eyes masked with exasperation as he forgot just how much she didn't know about their world. "Vampires, werewolves, even warlocks, they're part human." he explained. "Part of this world, born in it. They belong here. But demons come from other worlds they're inter-dimensional parasites. They come to a world and use it up. They can't build, just destroy—they can't make, only use. They drain a place to ashes and hewn it's dead, they move on to the next one. It's life they want—not just your life and mine, but all the life of this world, it's rivers and cities, it's oceans, it's everything. And the only thing that stands between them and the destruction of all of _this_—" Jace gestured out the window, waving his hand at everything as a whole. "Is this the Nephilim."

"Oh."

Jace nearly laughed at the singular, deflated, sound Clary had made; his own frustration slipping away. He had finally made her understand the vastness of what they faced.

"How many other worlds are there?" She asked then,

Jace shrugged. "No one knows. Hundreds? Millions, maybe."

"And they're all—dead worlds? Used up?" she asked frowning. "That seems so sad."

"I didn't say that." Jace said as they rolled over a purple minivan. "There are probably other living worlds like ours. But only demons can travel between them. Because they're mostly non-corporeal, partly, but nobody knows exactly why." He rubbed at his temples, wondering if this is what Hodge felt like when he was teaching them. "Plenty of warlocks have tried it," he continued, "and it's never worked. Nothing from Earth can pass through the wardings between worlds. If we could, we might be able to block them from coming here, but nobody's even been able to figure out how they do that. In fact," he added, "more and more of them are coming through. There used to be only small demon invasions into this world, easily contained. But even in my lifetime more and more of them have spilled through the wardings. The Clave is always having to dispatch Shadowhunters, and a lot of times they don't come back."

"But if you had the Mortal Cup, you could make more, right?" More demon hunters?" Clary's tone was hesitant as she looked at Jace.

"Sure," he agreed. "But we haven't had the Cup for years now, and a lot of us die young, So our numbers slowly dwindle."

"Aren't you, uh. . ." Jace looked at her curiously as she stammered over her words, her face burning crimson. "Reproducing?"

The moment she said it, Jace exploded with laughter just as the carriage made a sharp left. His body tensed automatically—bracing against the sudden turn, but Clary had not been so lucky. With lightning speed, he threw out his hands; catching her lightly by the arms as the unforeseen movement sent her barreling toward him. She looked up at him, and even in the darkness of the coach he could see the surprise on her face at being so close to him now, her full lips open in surprise. He could feel the heat of her soft skin under his fingers, his heart beginning to hammer. He swallowed. _What the hell are you doing? _And then he held her a few inches away from him as if she were something to be handled carefully, though he couldn't bring himself to completely let go of her. "Sure," he smiled now, the laughter still in his voice. "We love reproducing. It's one of our favorite things."

Clary pulled away from him suddenly, and he allowed her to go; watching as she turned to look out the window. He was half tempted to ask if she wanted him to demonstrate—if for no other reason than to see the blush on her cheeks deepen, but decided against it. He liked his face unblemished. With laughter still in his eyes, he gazed out his own window and saw the familiar wrought-iron gate of the New York City Marble Cemetery roll past. "We're here." he announced.

"But they stopped burying people in Manhattan a century ago because they ran out of room—didn't they?" She said, still looking out the window. _Or refusing to look at me_, Jace thought.

"The Bone City has been here longer than that," he said as the carriage came to a sudden stop, and he reached past Clary for the door. He paused, only for a second, when he saw her give a startled jump. That whole reproduction thing must of really gotten to her, Jace realized with an inward smile.

"You don't get a choice, do you?" she asked, looking at him. "About being a Shadowhunter. You can't just opt out?"

Where did that come from, he wondered. Opt out? Jace's hand rested on the door handle, as the words bounced around his head. While it was true that a child born to a Shadowhunter was destined to become a Shadowhunter as well, he had never thought of it as not getting a choice in the matter. Why would he? Being a Shadowhunter was an honor—a birthright. And he could never imagine a day that he would ever want to willingly stop being one. It's what he did best. "No." he said finally, opening the door. "But if I had a choice, this is still what I'd choose."

"Why?"

Jace's eyebrow cocked as he looked at her. "Because it's what I'm good at."

Grabbing ahold of the sleek black handle just outside the door, Jace swung himself down from the carriage, landing lightly on his feet. Straightening up, he looked around at the surrounding marble walls before turning back to the carriage—where he saw Clary in mid jump, land hard on the ground. He shook his head. While she had managed to stay upright, she had locked her knees during the fall and he could only imagine the sting the impact must have caused. Maybe someday she would learn how to jump and land properly, but for now— "I would have helped you down," he said as she swung around to face him, looking proud of herself for not having landed on her ass.

She blinked. "It's okay. You didn't have to."

So he had noticed. Mundanes always had a way of pointing out the obvious, and as Clary had been raised as a mundane, he wasn't surprised to see that she had picked up the habit. Turning to glance behind him, Jace saw that Brother Jeremiah was climbing silently down from his seat. Not for the first time, Jace didn't know whether to be in awe or jealous of the the stealth the Brothers possessed. He wagered it was a little bit of both.

_Come._

The single word reverberated through Jace's head as Brother Jeremiah moved away from them, toward the center of the garden where the Angel waited for those who sought entrance. He looked at Clary to see how she was doing now that they were there, but found that she was focused on a retreating Jeremiah. Jace shrugged and started forward, slowing only once to see if Clary was following. She was. He felt cold here—something that should have been a welcome change to the humidity, but this ran deeper. Knowing that the marble was made from the ashes of fallen Shadowhunters did nothing to help improve that feeling either. Soon he found himself standing near the great stone Angel, with Jeremiah waiting patiently by his side. And really, he wasn't sure if patience was the right word, as Brothers did seem to feel. Did they? Maybe he would go with indifferent. Uncaring? Nonchalant? Or maybe it was just a case of the good old fashion failure to give a—

He was jostled forward as, with a startled yelp, something—not something . . . _someone,_ bounced off of him and tore him away from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Clary staring wide eyed at him. "Don't screech like that." he said, hiding his amusement. "You'll wake the dead."

"Why are we stopping," she frowned.

Jace pointed at Brother Jeremiah in response who had moved to stand directly in front of the statue now. Clary looked up at the grand Angel in awe. In it's hands it held a jeweled rimmed cup, and below it on the base—along with a date—were the the words, _Nephilim: Facilis Descensus Averno. _

"Is that meant to be the Mortal Cup?" Clary asked.

Jace nodded. "And that's the motto of the Nephilim—the Shadowhunters— there on the base." he said pointing.

"What does it mean?" she asked, looking at the unfamiliar words.

"It means," Jace grinned devilishly. "'Shadowhunters: Looking Better In Black Than the Widows of Our Enemies Since 1234'"

"Jace—" Clary sighed, though a slight smile played on her lips.

_It means,_ Jeremiah cut in. _"The descent into Hell is easy." _

"Nice and cheery," she muttered, and Jace laughed.

"It's the Brothers' little joke having that here," he said, full well of the irony. "You'll see."

Clary looked at Brother Jeremiah with an expression that clearly doubted he had ever joked a day in his life, and Jace had to bite back another laugh. Jeremiah, seeming to ignore them both, drew a stele and traced a rune on the base. When he pulled back, the angel's lips parted as if screaming—or yawning. Jace imagined it got pretty boring here, what with all the lively conversations that went on. Shrugging, he watched unimpressed as the ground shifted and a downward path appeared leading underground, before bounding forward. The greenish-blue flamed torch on the wall cast an eerie glow that made his skin look sickly the closer he got. Stopping, he looked back and saw that Clary was still at the top, looking down at him. "Come _on,_" he called. He hated it down here and wanted to get it over with.

As he neared the bottom, he pulled one of the torches from the wall, holding it in front of him so that he could see better. He had his witchlight, but he had found out long ago by personal experience that the Silent Brothers were none to thrilled with a bright light being shined in their faces. It did make for a great story, however. One that involved three young kids who were barely teenagers and a game of truth or dare. The skittering of feet on stone steps caused Jace to look up as Clary came to a stop in front of him. Her bright green eyes were wide, her breathing hitched. She looked terrified. "You all right?" he asked with concern.

Clary nodded a little too sharply as she looked around at the underground tunnel that spanned out before them. "It's so . . . dark."

"Do you want me to hold your hand?" Jace mocked playfully.

But Clary was already placing her hands behind her back as she glared up at him. "Don't talk down to me."

"Well, I could hardly talk _up _to you." he said amused. "You're too short." Looking past Clary, he wondered briefly what he would have done had she said yes. Obviously he would have done it, but then what? _But then nothing, _he told himself. Turning, his eyes landed on Jeremiah who was standing silently on the steps behind Clary watching them.

"No need to stand on ceremony, Brother Jeremiah." he drawled. "Lead on, we'll be right behind you." and Clary jumped, involuntarily stepping closer to Jace, as Brother Jeremiah walked around her and made his way down the tunnel. Jace chuckled silently as they turned to follow him—Clary staring ahead apprehensively. With a teasing smile he held his hand out to her, and then laughed as she knocked it away.

Jace stole side-long glances at Clary as they made it though the end of the tunnel. She was looking at the large ivory arches that sat in rows upon rows of each other with wonder; and Jace realized that he would miss it when nothing surprised her anymore. When nothing he showed her would garner that look of awe. Passing through one of the arches, Jace saw that Clary's attention was instantly captured by a large white marble structure. "It's a mausoleum," Jace stopped next to her and pointed the torch at it. "A tomb. We bury our dead here." And then he moved on, unwilling to stay here longer than he had to.

"I thought you said this was library." Jace heard her whispered accusation as she came up quickly behind him.

_There are many levels to the Silent City, _Jeremiah answered, setting Jace's teeth on edge. _And not all the dead are buried here. There is another ossuary in Idris, of course, much larger. But on this level are the mausoleums and the place of burning. _

"The place of burning?" Clary whispered so low that Jace wasn't sure if she had meant it as a question, or if she had merely been repeating it to herself. Either way, Brother Jeremiah responded.

_Those who die in battle are burned, their ashes used to make the marble arches that you see here. The blood and bone of demon slayers is itself a powerful protection against evil. Even in death, the Clave serves the cause. _

Clary said nothing to this, and they continued walking in silence. Jace looked up at the marble arches grimly. He had often wondered whether he would join these columns someday. It was supposed to be considered a great honor. If he did, he at least wanted something to be remembered by engraved on it. A haiku maybe?

_Jace was once awesome—__Now he's a column—__This blows_

He might need to tweak it a little, but he thought there was a certain ring to it. Looking up, he saw that Jeremiah had stopped, his face turned toward him. Jace shrugged. Fucking critics. As they joined him, they found another set of steps leading downward. Jeremiah didn't hesitate as he turned and glided down them, but Jace could sense Clary's own reluctance, and he thrust the torch out in front of him, sending the shadows scattering. "We're going to the second level, where the archives and the council rooms are." he explained reassuringly as they began their own descent.

"Where are the living quarters?" Clary asked, looking up at Jace. "Where do the Brothers sleep?"

But it was Jeremiah who answered. _Sleep?_

Jace laughed as dawning realization masked Clary's face. "You had to ask," he smiled.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, they turned down another tunnel; and then Jace tensed up as they stepped out into the grand square chamber. They were here. A long black table sat in the center of the room and Jace bit the inside of his cheek. They were all there. The whole council. What with the Mortal Sword hanging above them gleaming in the blue-green flames, and the black square of Speaking Stars glittering on the floor below, he would have thought the scene was one that begged to be painted. Too bad their creepy manner took away from the beauty of it. Jace glanced at Clary, who was looking at him as if unsure what to do. Had he missed something?

Slowly, she moved away from him, and he made to reach for her.

_Do not come any further, _a voice in his head said. _She will be safe._ He looked at the table wondering which one of them had spoken to him. Sighing, he retracted his hand and watched as she made her way slowly across the floor, stopping in the center of the Speaking Stars. Even with her back to him, he could see the squaring of her shoulders and the raise of her head, and could only imagine the glare she was giving them. She was not afraid to yell at Shadowhunters, _or_ stare down Silent Brothers. Was there anything she _was_ afraid of?

"All right," she said. "Now what?"

And then Jace watched in disgusted horror as, one by one, they pushed back their hoods, revealing their disfigured faces beneath. There was silence then, and Jace realized with irritation that they were speaking only to her now. He didn't like this.

"Stop." she demanded suddenly. "You can go inside my head, but only when I'm ready." And Jace looked at her with apprehension. Had she been hurt? She made it sound as if they had started prying without asking her first. He growled, beginning to pace.

_You will stay where you are. _A voice commanded him. Had Jace even been thinking about going to her? And then he realized that he had. Crossing his arms, his fingers began to drum nervously on his skin.

"Go ahead."

And Jace went rigid as a statue, his jaw locking as he watched her. Silence. The silence was the worse part. The not knowing. He couldn't even see her face. He thought back to what Hodge had said. "_She may not come out the same as when she went in,_"he had tried to warn Jace. But then . . . Jace had not wanted her to go in the end. It had gone from being his idea, to being hers. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

And then she screamed and his heart stopped.

He tried to run to her, but found himself unwilling to move—no, not unwilling. _Unable. _He could only watch helplessly as she crumpled to the floor, and listen as her arm struck the marble with a sickening crack. He glared at the Silent Brothers, his anger white hot, but they paid him no attention. Suddenly, she stirred, and Jace let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Clary pushed herself into a sitting position, and Jace could see the blood that ran down her arm. She met his eyes, her emerald gaze disoriented.

And then she was scrambling to her feet, cradling her arm. Jace frowned as she turned her back to him again and faced the Council. "But I don't know who put it there. If I knew that, I wouldn't have come here."

At her words, realization hit Jace. They hadn't been able to do it. Why had they come here then? He thought angrily? What had been the point?

"Magnus Bane?" Clary said suddenly, and a jolt of familiarity went through him. "But—that's not even a name!" she added.

_It is enough, _Jace heard Brother Jeremiah's voice again. But before he could remark on it, he watched as each of them rose and turned to Jace, inclining their heads, before exiting the room. Only Jeremiah remained with him and Clary. It was a few seconds before Jace realized that he was no longer being bound in place, and he ran to Clary, his heart hammering. As he got closer, he could see the blood on her shirt as well as on the Speaking Stars below her. And he tried remembering what it was Hodge had said about that.

"Is your arm all right? Let me see." He didn't wait for her permission before seizing her wrist and turning it to look for himself.

"Ouch! It's fine. Don't do that; you're making it worse!" Clary tried pulling her arm away, but Jace was unrelenting.

"You bled on the Speaking Stars," he said, more to himself than to her, as he ran fingers gingerly down her arm feeling for breaks.

"I bet there's a law somewhere about that." she said flatly.

He hid his smile and turned her arm over lightly. He blinked. _Not good._ He bit down on his lip and whistled, as his eyes followed the blood that went from her elbow, down to her wrist. As he let go of her wrist, she looked up at him and tried to smile—pain flashing in her eyes. "Is this when you start tearing strips off your t-shirt to bind my wounds?"

Jace bit his cheek. Was she serious? "If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked," he replied, his tone even, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his stele. "It would have been a lot less painful." He saw a smile play on her lips, as she cast her eyes away. Taking her arm gently back in his, he bent over it and began to glide the stele along her delicate skin, the black ink shining up at him. "There," he said upon finishing the _iratze. _Straightening up, Jace and looked down tenderly at Clary as she stretched and flexed her arm, relief in her face. "And the next time you're planning to injure yourself to get my attention, just remember that a little sweet talk works wonders."

She looked up at him, her emerald eyes meeting his gold ones and she smiled shyly. "I'll keep that in mind." She breathed. Jace suddenly felt that same impulse he had had yesterday in the elevator. She was so close—with no one to watch but Brother Jeremiah . . . _oh. _He looked at Clary one last time before turning away from her. It was then that she added, "And thanks." The sincerity palpable in her voice. Sticking his stele in his back pocket, he smiled as he walked toward the Silent Brother.

"Brother Jeremiah," Jace said, rubbing his hands together, "you've been very quiet all this time. Surely you have some thoughts you'd like to share?"

_I am charged with leading you from the Silent City, and that is all._

Jace thought about this. Surely he didn't _have _to join them. "We could always show ourselves out," he said hopefully. "I'm sure I remember the way—"

_The marvels of the Silent City are not for the eyes of the uninitiated. _And with that, Jeremiah turned his back on them. _This way._

As the remerged to the land of the living, Jace could feel the change of weather immediately. The grey sky blocked out the sun, and the air had that fresh smell that could only be associated with one thing. "It's going to rain."

"Are we taking a carriage back to the Institute?"

Jace looked at Clary; her face was turned up toward the sky as if she were welcoming it—as if she had not thought she'd see it again. Strands of hair were damp against her cheeks. He then turned to look at Jeremiah and the carriage behind him. Jace didn't need to hear his mind to know what he was thinking. This had been a one way ride for them. But that was okay with him. He didn't necessarily want to go back to the Institute right now. He needed to go somewhere to think. "No way." Jace grinned. "I hate those things. Lets hail a cab."

And he began walking toward the gates.


	9. Distractions

_**A/N:**__ Alright, so I'm going to go ahead and rate this chapter "M" due to some of the things discussed in it. So you can't say I didn't warn you. As always, I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think :) _

* * *

**~Chapter Nine~**

**Distractions**

As they had waited for the cab, Clary had filled Jace in on everything that had happened to her, and everything she had seen while under the probing mental fingers of the Silent Brothers. While he didn't like the fact that she had been distressed, he was happy that they had at least gotten some kind of information. A name. Magnus Bane. While he was sure that it was a warlock, Jace didn't have the slightest clue where to start looking. Warlocks were immortal and depending on their age, would have been to places Jace had never heard of. He could be anywhere.

Another thing had occurred to Jace while he was down in the Bone City as well. He was becoming too attached to Clary. He didn't like it—and he did. She had begun clouding his thoughts and making it hard to focus on the tasks at hand. And that could prove to be detrimental to both of them. He would need to distance himself from her as best as he could. He knew that while he wouldn't be able to avoid her, he had to try not to think about her as he had been. When the cab arrived, he had unceremoniously dove into the back seat first; leaving her to crawl in after him. She was just another girl, he had told himself. Just like any other girl. Nothing special. She wasn't even a real Shadowhunter. He needed to stop relying on the idea that just the two of them would be able to handle things. He needed real Shadowhunters to help him think, and as it was still morning—why not think over breakfast?

They were flying down the streets, dodging in and out of traffic now. Jace had given the mundane driver an address but it seemed the idiot was trying to take the long way around. Jace's frustration was building as his hunger pains grew more prominent. He had already barked at the cabbie more than once, but as he was in the incorrect lane the need to yell again was strong. _What the hell was he doing?!_ Leaning forward, Jace pounded his hand against the hard partition that protected the driver from people like him.

"Turn left! Left!" he shouted. "I said to take Broadway, you brain-dead moron!" And The driver responded with a curse before jerking the wheel hard. Clary cried out as she came crashing into him, but he hadn't caught her this time as he had in the carriage.

"Why are we taking Broadway, anyway?" Clary asked irritably as she righted herself without his help.

"I'm starving," Jace said as he looked ahead. "And there's nothing at home except leftover Chinese." Without looking at her, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed-dial button for Alec. It rang twice before he heard a groggy voice on the other end. "Alec!" Jace shouted as a horn blared and the taxi driver made an obscene gesture. "Wake up!"

"Oh, remembered I existed? Wait—what time is it?"

But Jace ignored him. "Meet us at Taki's."

"Why?" Alec asked annoyed.

"Breakfast." Jace said as another horn sounded off next to the cab.

"Did I hear you right? Did you say—"

"Yeah, you heard me. Breakfast." Jace cut him off. Alec said something else, that sounded muffled. "What?"

"You want me to walk there? You know how far that is?"

"It's only a few blocks away." Jace said annoyed. "Get going."

"Fine. But your buying." Alec retorted and hung up.

Jace clicked off his own phone and shoved it into his inner pocket just as the driver swerved up to the curb. From another pocket, he pulled out some cash and handed it to the driver. _Not that you deserve a penny, you slow driving incompetent mundane moron, _Jace thought vehemently. Turning, he saw that Clary was staring at him. What was she waiting for? Reaching over her, he popped the door open and then began elbowing her out of the car. Slamming the door shut behind him, Jace stretched. Being a tall guy like he was, getting stuck in the back of a short car was uncomfortable. Bringing his arms wide, he smiled at Clary who was still watching him with uncertainty.

"Welcome to the greatest restaurant in New York."

The hole in the wall eatery was surprisingly one of the few Downworlder spots that wasn't glamoured. But it also didn't look like an up and running business either, so they rarely had problems with mundanes trying to enter. On the even rarer occasion that one _did_ try to enter, well . . . Jace looked at the large ifrit's that leaned against the wall by the door. That's what Clancy and Jeremy were for.

"It looks like a prison," Clary muttered next to him. She wore a look that questioned what they were doing here when they had more pressing matters.

Jace pointed at her. "But in prison could you order a spaghetti _fra diavolo_ that makes you want to kiss your fingers? I don't _think_ so."

Clary sighed irritably. "I don't want spaghetti," she glared up at him. "I want to know what a Magnus Bane is."

"It's not a what. It's a who." Jace said reasonably as he looked up the street. Alec should be here soon. Turning back toward her, he saw that she was staring at him. "It's a name," he clarified.

"Do you know who he _is?"_ she asked, her brows raising.

"He's a warlock." He said sensibly, looking at her like she should have known that. "Only a warlock could have put a block in your mind like that. Or maybe one of the Silent Brothers, but clearly it wasn't them."

"Is he a warlock you've _heard_ of?" The impatience clear in her voice.

Though he already knew it did, he pretended to think about it before he drawled. "The name does sound familiar—"

"Hey!"

Jace turned to see Alec approaching them. His hair was wildly out of place and Jace thought those might have been the same clothes he had worn last night—though he wasn't certain. As he got closer, Jace felt a sense of completeness that only his _parabatai_ could bring him. "Izzy's on her way," Alec said to Jace, ignoring Clary. "She's bringing the mundane."

"Simon?" Jace's stomach did an annoying flip and Clary's head snapped up at the name of the mundane. "Where did he come from?"

Alec shrugged. "He showed up first thing this morning. Couldn't stay away from Izzy, I guess. Pathetic," he added with amusement. Jace purposely didn't look at Clary. "Anyway," Alec said, "are we going in or what? I'm starving."

"Me too," Jace agreed. "I could really go for some fried mouse tails."

"Some _what?"_ Clary asked bewildered and then stared back at the restaurant.

"Relax," Jace grinned. "It's just a diner." _Kind of. _

With Alec on one side and Clary trailing on the other, they made their way to the door. Jace saw Clancy straighten up, the hat that had been pulled down no longer hiding his red face. The grey day made his skin look dull, but Jace knew that on a sunny day it gleamed brighter than a ruby. Stopping in front of them, Jace watched Alec pull back his sleeve, showing the Marks on his arm.

"Nephilim," Jace said in a low voice. Clancy nodded and returned back to his spot on the wall as they went inside.

"_Jace,_" Clary hissed behind him. "Who _was_ that?"

"You mean Clancy?" he asked as he looked around the cozy-warm diner. It was half empty, but that's not what interested him. Behind the counter, Kaelie stood counting out change to a large werewolf, her blonde hair pulled over one shoulder. He smiled. He _did_ need a distraction—and he would be lying if he said she didn't make for a great one. Seeing Jace looking at her, the blonde faerie gave a dazzling smile, waved, and then gestured to the tables; giving them the go ahead to sit anywhere. Looking down at Clary again, he saw that she was waiting for more of an explanation about the doorman. He sighed. "Clancy keeps out undesirables," he said as he took her by the arm and guided her to a booth.

"He's a demon." Though she hadn't exactly shouted it—she didn't say it softly either, and Jace noticed that what few Downworld patrons there were—were now looking at them. Catching the eye of a beautiful dark haired nixie, he smiled and shrugged as if to say, "_what can you do?" _The nixie smiled, rolling her eyes before looking at Jace with appreciation. The boy she sat with merely glared at him.

"No he isn't." Jace said sliding into the booth—Alec immediately sitting next to him. "They're warlocks with no magic. Half demons who can't cast spells for whatever reason." Jace watched as Clary positioned herself in the seat across from him. Had she been flexing her her arm that he had just healed? He should have warned her that it might be stiff for awhile. And her eyes seemed slightly clouded—_stop. _He gave his thoughts a mental shake.

"Poor bastards," said Alec as he picked up one of the menus that had already been placed on the table. Jace picked up his as well, though he was pretty sure he was going to get his usual: A burger and fried french-fried mouse tails. Just for something to do, he flipped it over to the back and perused the items anyway.

"Who eat's whole raw fish?" Clary asked suddenly.

"Kelpies," said Alec without looking up. "Selkies. Maybe the occasional nixie."

Jace looked at Clary over the top of his menu. Her brows were knitted together as she squinted at the menu—her nose scrunched up adorably. He shook his head. This might be harder than he thought. Did she have to be so endearingly ignorant?

"Don't order the faerie food," he told her. "It tends to make humans a little crazy. One minute you're munching a faerie plum, the next minute you're running naked down Madison Avenue with antlers on your head. Not," he added, kicking Alec under the table as he snickered. "that this has ever happened to me."

Except that it had.

And it had been horrible.

And horribly funny.

Alec only laughed louder at having been kicked though, and was looking at Jace with shining eyes. "Do you remember when we were in Alicante and Liam tried to get Isabelle to go out to Lake Lyn with him—"

Liam. It was no wonder that Alec would think of Liam now after what he had just said. It was because of Liam that Jace had eaten that damn plum. Jace wondered what he was up to these days. He had only stopped through New York briefly with his family a year ago, but they had originally met in Alicante a couple years back. They had come from the Dublin Institute, after his father had been asked to head the Portland Institute. He wondered how he was liking it there.

"—and then Mom got pissed when we came back hallucinating from the lake water. What was it you said you saw? Oh yeah, horse faced pixies with the tails of dragons. Granted, it _could_ have killed—"

Not to mention the anatomical correctness of a horse—which, in turn, had kept them from being able to fly off the ground. But Jace had not mentioned that part of the hallucination to anyone because, well, who in their right mind would? Jace hadn't even been in his right mind at that time and he had known better than that. He would have to go see Liam sometime. Maybe return the favor he had done Jace by giving him that faerie plum. But then, if _he _had walked in on someone with _his_ sister, he can't say he wouldn't have fed them some faerie food either . . . which was probably why it was a good thing that he didn't have a sister. But he smiled as he remembered Kerrigan. Her hair had been red just like Clary's, but straight. And Clary's curls had a certain shine to them that hers hadn't had; especially when the sun hit them. He also preferred Clary's emerald fires—shit.

"And then Kerrigan had come in and—"

"Are we ever going to get any coffee?" Jace asked suddenly, looking at Kaelie as she walked by.

"—I . . ." Alec's voice trailed off, and Jace noticed he looked disappointed.

"What's all the raw meat for?" Clary asked suddenly, pointing at the menu.

Was she still trying to get through the menu? Jace looked at her, glad to see that he was able to do so without his heart racing or his stomach doing some stupid flip. "Werewolves," he said. "Though I don't mind a bloody steak myself every once in awhile." Jace shook his head as Clary looked back down at the menu confused. Reaching across the table, he plucked it out of her hands and flipped it over. "Human food is on the back." he said, giving it back to her.

Leaning back in his seat, Jace's eyes follow Kaelie lazily across the room. He knew that tucked into that uniform were a set of crystalline blue wings, and a body that could hurt someone who didn't know how to handle her—or someone who just liked pain.

"They have _smoothies _here?"

"There's this apricot-plum smoothie with wildflower honey that's simply divine." Isabelle had arrived, and Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek as he saw that she had indeed brought the mundane. He had hoped that Alec had been screwing with him. "Shove over," Isabelle said to Clary before sliding into the booth next to her. Jace watched with amusement as she was pushed as far as she could go. Not that she noticed he was looking at her now that her _mundie_ was here. "You should have one," Isabelle suggested, flipping her hair over her shoulder and picking up the menu. Jace noticed that Clary didn't respond to her recommendation, but she _did _look as if she were going to sneeze.

"So how did it go at the Bone City?" Isabelle continued, flipping the menu open. "Did you find out what's in Clary's head?"

"We got a name," said Jace. "Magnus—" But he didn't get to finish as Alec slapped Jace's arm loudly with his menu.

"Shut _up." _he hissed.

Jace rubbed his injured arm, the sting radiating. "Jesus," he said, looking wounded. "What's your problem?"

"This place is full of Downworlders. You know that. I think you should try to keep the details of our investigation secret." Alec chided.

"_Investigation?"_ Isabelle laughed mockingly, and Jace turned to look at her. "Now we're detectives? Maybe we should all have code names."

Jace felt the smile at his lips as he thought about it. "Good idea," he said. "I shall be Baron Hotschaft Von Hugenstein."

And then Jace laughed loudly as Alec, who had just taken a drink of water, spit it back into his glass. However, before he could make a clever remark about how Alec was supposed to swallow, not spit, Kaelie arrived at their table and he smiled wide at her. "Know what you're having?" She asked Jace, her all blue eyes shining.

Jace's grin widened. "The usual." And she returned the smile, showing her sharp little teeth.

"Me too," Alec said, putting down his menu.

Isabelle on the other hand ordered her fruit smoothie, something Jace had known she would do, while the mundane ordered a black coffee. When it was Clary's turn, he watched as she looked at the menu one last time before ordering coconut pancakes and a large coffee. She was in for a treat. She would like them.

"Is she an ifrit too?" Clary asked.

Jace, who followed her line of sight, said. "Kaelie? No. Part fey, I think."

And now Isabelle was watching the waitress. "She's got nixie eyes," she said thoughtfully.

"You really don't know what she is?" The stupid mundane asked stupidly.

Jace bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. "I respect her privacy," he said. _Also, if you could refrain from speaking, that'd be great. _Jace wanted to add. Instead he looked away, his eyes falling on Kaelie who was now bent over the bar talking to the chef through the window to the kitchen. And then he saw Clary's green eye's watching him and made a split second decision. "Hey, let me out for a second," he said, elbowing Alec.

Scooting out of the booth, Jace ignored Alec's disgruntled look as he straightened up and walked over to Kaelie. He tapped her on the opposite shoulder to the one he stood, knowing that she wouldn't be fooled.

"Hey beautiful," he whispered as she turned to look at him. She smiled as he threw his arm around her.

"I was wondering if you were going to come talk to me," she said snuggling into his chest, and he noticed that she didn't fit quite right against him. She was too tall. "Or if you were going to stick with barking out questions from your table."

"Maybe I was just trying to get your attention," Jace said with a devastating grin.

Kaelie looked up at him from under her long golden green lashes, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Jace Wayland does not vie for the attention of girls—Downworlder or otherwise." She said knowingly, but all the same she looked pleased.

Jace looked over at his table and saw that Clary was looking at him—no, not at him, at Simon. His stomach dropped. "Don't I?" he said more to himself than to Kaelie.

"Not when you have them throwing themselves at you," she grinned, turning to him. He could feel her slender body pressing against every part of him, but it was almost uncomfortable. "Now that you've got my attention, though, what do you intend to do with it?"

"Depends," he said, smiling down at the pretty distraction in front of him. "Are you throwing yourself at me?"

"Maybe," she winked. "It would not be the first time I have done so." Jace beamed as she went gracefully to her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. "But not right now. I'm working."

"Oh, so now you have proper work etiquette?" he asked jokingly.

She only laughed and ruffled his hair. "Ever since we were caught in the freezer, I've had to."

Jace's grin deepened. "Sorry about that. Did they throw out that lettuce?"

"Of course," she said without batting a eye. "Now go sit down, Jace," she smiled. "If you decide you want me later, you know where I'll be."

Jace nodded and backed away from her as she spun to say something to the cook. Turning around, he headed back to his table, glad to know that he would have a distraction waiting for him should he need to use it. As he got closer he heard Isabelle trying to explain the difference between them and Downworlders, who was better, and their inability to be marked.

"So they're weak?" Clary asked, and Jace noticed a tight-lipped djinn glaring at her—looking as if he wanted to say something. Jace shook his head warningly at him, a menacing smile on his lips. The djinn looked away quickly.

"I wouldn't say that," Jace admonished, sliding back into the booth next to Alec. "At least not with a peri, a djinn, an ifrit, and God knows what else listening in." And then he was grinning up at Kaelie who had just arrived with their food. There was that brief moment where they were all moving stuff, and passing stuff around as they made room. Then with a wink at Jace, Kaelie flounced away once more. Picking up a fried mouse tail, he popped it into his mouth as he watched Clary take a bite of her pancakes. Her eyes lit up.

"I told you it was the greatest restaurant in Manhattan," Jace grinned, picking up another golden fried mouse tail. He had first tried these on a dare from Alec, and had been hooked ever since. They looked like a regular french fry might, but they're flavor was much richer, with just the hint of tartness that balance it out. He got them every time now. But Clary either hadn't heard him or hadn't cared. She was staring at Simon who was moping into his coffee. _Seriously, what the—_

"Mmmf," Alec began, his mouth too full to talk, gave Jace a meaningful look.

"Right," Jace said, knowing exactly what he was getting at and looking back at Clary. "It's not one-way," he said, in reference to what he had overheard Isabelle trying to explain. "We may not always like Downworlders, but they don't always like us, either. A few hundred years of the Accords can't wipe out a thousand years of hostility."

"Im sure she doesn't know what the Accords are, Jace." Isabelle said as she took a bite of her smoothie.

"I do, actually," Clary said.

"I don't," said Simon.

Jace gave him a withering look. "Yes, but nobody cares what you know." Picking up a tail, he examined it—being careful not to look at Clary now. "I enjoy the company of certain Downworlders at certain times and places. But we don't really get invited to the same party."

As he bit into the fried tail, he noticed Clary looking at Kaelie with a frown. So she had understood his meaning, he thought. He wasn't sure why she would be concerned with the faerie. Didn't she have her mundane?

"Wait." Isabelle said suddenly, as she sat up straight. "What did you say that name was?" She was staring intently at Jace. He lifted a brow, and she became impatient. "The name in Clary's head."

"I didn't," Jace said. "At least I didn't get to finish it. It's Magnus Bane." and then he grinned pointedly at Alec. "Rhymes with 'over-careful pain in the ass.'"

"Fucking asshole." Alec muttered into his mug. Jace looked at him affectionally, and saw Alec give him an wry smile.

"It can't be—" Isabelle began digging into her purse, ignoring them both. "But I'm almost totally sure—" Finally, she pulled out a blue piece of paper. "Look at _this,_" she said handing it to Alec

Glancing at it without interest, Alec shrugged before passing it to Jace, saying, "It's a party invitation for somewhere in Brooklyn. I hate Brooklyn."

"Don't be such a snob," Jace told Alec before looking down at the thin flamboyant script. It _was_, in fact, an invitation. _You are hereby invited to the humble home of Magnus the Magnificent Warlock, where a rapturous evening of delights beyond your wildest imaginations await you._ Jace's eyes went wide, his back ridged. He looked up at Isabelle. "Where did you get this, Izzy?"

"From that Kelpie in Pandemonium," she smiled, waving her hand dismissively. "He said it would be awesome. He had a whole stack of them." Jace grinned at her. He knew who "that Kelpie" was. Had they not been on an assignment, she might have left with _that_ Kelpie. This, of course, was before Clary had shown up. Clary—who was now looking at them with impatience.

"What is it?" She demanded as she noticed Jace looking at her. "Are you going to show the rest of us or not?" Smiling, Jace turned it for everyone else to see.

"Magnus," Simon mused. "Magnus like Magnus Bane?"

"I doubt there are that many warlocks named Magnus in the Tristate area," Jace rolled his eyes.

Alec was staring at the invitation, a frown on his lips. "Does that mean we have to go to the party?" And while the question wasn't directed at any one person, Jace decided to answer it.

"We don't _have_ to do anything," he said staring down at the blue paper. "But according to this, Magnus Bane is the High Warlock of Brooklyn." His golden eyes flashed up to Clary. "I, for one, am a little curious as to what the High Warlock of Brooklyn's name is doing inside your head."

Everyone spoke then, and it was a little while before they had all unanimously agreed to go—not that that would have mattered to Jace. He would have gone with or without them, and he was sure that Clary would have gone too. After all, he wanted to distance his feelings from her, not stop helping her. After it was agreed upon, they had to face another argument of whether or not Simon would go. He should have known he would lose that one the moment he started it, but at least he had relieved some of his frustration in the process. And now they were back at the Institute with time to kill. Jace hated free time. He knew that Isabelle and Simon had gone to the park, and he also knew that Clary had refused to go with them; stating she wanted to take a nap. This was okay with him as he wanted to step away from her for a little bit. She confused him when she was around. And that's how he wound up in the training room with Alec.

"You need to turn as you fall." Jace called up to Alec, who was getting ready to jump off the beam again. "Unless, of course, you enjoyed that last bellyflop you did?" From below, Jace couldn't hear the retort Alec made clearly, but he was sure it was a doozy as his lips moved for a good minute at least. "What's that?" he called up there? "You're scared? You want me to climb up—"

Alec jumped, turning perfectly as he did, and tucked himself in as he landed on his feet. Quick as lighting he was up and across the room holding a blade to Jace's throat. Jace smiled, bringing his hands together for a slow clap. Alec's mouth twitched, and Jace used the distraction to bat aside the blade, loop his arm through Alec's, and bring him up over his shoulder and down hard onto the mat. Alec looked at him dazed, but as Jace straightened up—proud of himself, Alec swept his leg around and knocked Jace's feet out from under him. Jace was the first to start laughing. It was only a second before Alec joined in, rolling toward him so that they were side by side.

But soon the laughter died away; replaced by silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Jace could usually always find peace in his _parabatai's _presence. The fact that Alec didn't always feel the need to talk was one of the most refreshing things about him. Looking up, Jace watched as one of the climbing ropes swayed lazily in the light breeze that came in from the open window. It had indeed started raining earlier, and while it hadn't lasted long, it did bring with it a cooling front that Jace was now thankful for.

"Hey," Alec said after awhile.

"Hmm?"

"Back at Taki's . . . did I upset you?" Alec asked hesitantly.

"What?" Jace asked turning his head to meet his cool blue gaze. "When?"

"When I brought up that trip to Alicante with Liam," he said.

"Not at all," Jace chuckled, putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the rafters again. "And that hallucination you mentioned? Yeah, it was much more terrifying than even I was willing to admit at the time."

"How so?" Alec's brows furrowed, and Jace laughed.

"Let's just say that those horse-faced dragon pixies could've put each one of us to shame. And yes, I am including myself in that—as impossible as it may seem to be."

It took a minute before Alec realized what he was saying and burst out laughing again. "You're joking," he insisted.

"If only I were." Jace sighed dramatically. "And I'm still not comfortable around horses." he joked, and then started laughing along with Alec. But as the laughter slowed once more, he looked over at Alec. His dark hair had fallen in his face and his eyes were closed. Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. "Alec?"

"Hmm?"

Jace smiled briefly at their role reversal before saying, "I'm sorry." And now Alec's piercing blue eyes were watching him questioningly. He sighed. "I know that since Clary came, I've been kind of. . . one track minded—and I know that I've been leaving you out. It's just, I have to figure this out. I have—"

"Jace," Alec cut him off. "First—you've always had a one track mind. And I have to admit that before I realized that, I used to wonder if you regretted choosing me as you're _parabatai."_ Jace sat up ready to protest, his eyes wide. Alec held up a hand to stop him. "But it's just you, Jace." he continued. "You get it in your head to do something, and then you have to do it. You don't stop till its done. No matter the cost. And it's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Alec, I have never—not once, regretted becoming your _parabatai. _You are the most level headed and logical person I know—"

"After yourself, of course," Alec chimed in with a smile.

"Well, of course—I was just trying to be nice." Jace grinned. "But really . . . I _need_ level and logic." _Especially now,_ Jace thought. "Otherwise I'd be running all willy-nilly into demon hordes."

"You _do _run all willy-nilly into demon hordes," Alec said dryly.

"Ah, yes—_but_—I have you there telling me how stupid I am the whole time," Jace pointed out with a broad grin.

"Well, someone has to knock you down a peg every once in awhile." Alec laughed.

"Pangborn and Blackwell killed my father," Jace blurted out, surprising himself. He had planned to tell Alec, of course, just not randomly like that. Seeing the shocked look on his face, Jace went on hastily. "Hodge doesn't know—I don't want him to know."

Alec sat up straight and before he knew it, Jace was was telling him everything. About the coffee shop, about Luke's and his father's killers—the City of Bones, and about Clary; how confused she made him and how reckless he felt around her when he was trying to make sure she was safe. How he was trying to distance his feelings for her so that he could maybe think a little straighter. And Alec listened. He listened without judgement, not just as a best friend or a brother could. But only as a _parabatai _could.

Jace had felt somewhat better after talking to Alec, but he still didn't know what to do about Clary. Advice on girls was not Alec's strong suit. He walked down the corridor, his hand in his pocket turning the red string that he had gotten from Luke's. He had carried it with him since discovering it. After his shower last night, he had tried tracking the owner, but for some reason it hadn't worked. Jace stopped and raked his fingers roughly through his hair as he let out a frustrated groan. He didn't want to start thinking about Pangborn and Blackwell again. It would just drive him nuts. In fact, he wasn't sure what he wanted. It was then that he realized where he was.

_You have got to be kidding me._

He looked at the Clary's bedroom door. He hadn't even realized that he had passed his own room. Turning around, he took a step back toward his bedroom and then hesitated. _Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it! _Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _Shit._ Well, if he was going to torment himself, he might as well not be alone while he did it. He knocked on Clary's door. When he got no answer, he knocked a little louder. Was she asleep? Still no reply. Reaching forward, he pushed open the door.

"Clary?" he whispered, sticking his head in. But she wasn't in there. Sighing he was just about to leave when he saw a pad of paper on her bed and he crossed toward it boldly, the door closing behind him. He didn't want to be alone anyway. Maybe he would wait for her to come back. Sitting on her bed, he realized that the pad of paper was actually a sketchbook. He leaned back against the pillow, stretching his legs out on the bed in front of him, as he began to flip through it. Jocelyn was on the first page, the likeness astounding. And then Simon. And then Simon again. Jace thought about tossing the pad, but instead continued on to find Luke. She was good. Really really good.

A shriek and something hitting the floor and rolling away grabbed his attention. "Oh dear," Jace said, sitting up quickly and tossing aside the sketchbook. He saw Clary standing there, her eyes open wide as she looked at him laying on her bed, and then down at whatever she had dropped. There was liquid on the floor. _Oops._ "I hope that wasn't anything important."

"It was a sleeping potion," Clary said angrily as she prodded the now empty vial with her shoe. "And now it's gone."

"If only Simon were here. He could probably bore you to sleep." Jace said, though he was unsure why he had said it. It had been unsolicited, and he waited for her to snap at him. But it never came. Instead, her shoulders slumped as she walked to the other side of the bed and sat down. Reaching out, she picked up the sketchbook he had been looking at.

"I don't usually let people look at this," she sighed.

"Why not?" Jace asked, looking at the book. "You're a pretty good artist. Sometimes even excellent."

"Well, because—it's like a diary. Except I don't think in words, I think in pictures, so it's all drawings. But it's still private." She said, looking at it.

Jace took on an injured air. "A diary with no drawings of me in it? Where are the torrid fantasies? The romance novel covers? The—"

"Do all the girls you meet fall in love with you?" She exhaled, as her emerald gaze held his.

Jace blinked, his heart dropping into his stomach as he stared at her, unsure how to answer. What did she want to hear? That he'd never been in love? That girls didn't love him—not really, anyway. It was never more than lust that brought him together with anyone. A mutual need for gratification. How did he explain that to her? He took a breath. "It's not love," his voice barely above a whisper, his brows knitting together as he thought about how to tell her—how to explain. "At least—"

"You could try not being charming all the time," she said pointedly. "It might be a relief for everyone." And he looked down at his hands. That was the problem wasn't it? He didn't know _how_ to act around her. No matter what he did—what he tried—it seemed to either annoy her instantly, or it would annoy her later. So if he wasn't supposed to be charming, then what _should _he be? In fact, he had been putting up this wall for so long. . .

He didn't look at her when he spoke. "If you're really tired, I could put you to sleep," he breathed. "Tell you a bedtime story."

"Are you serious?" She whispered, surprised.

Looking up at her, he took in her ruby curls that were now braided. Watched as she bit down on her full bottom lip, and then met her curious emerald gaze.

"I'm always serious."

She didn't seem sure how to take him. She only sat there and stared at him. Would she send him away? Earlier today he had opened himself to her during their carriage ride. It had surprised him, but he had done it because he needed her to understand something. Now, he did it because he wanted her to see him. He had always had women who wanted him, but it had always been because of his looks—his charms. What he allowed them to see. But Clary was different because she didn't buy it. Turning away from him, she set the sketchbook on the nightstand and then brought her legs up into bed. His heart thumped loudly as she curled up on her side, facing him.

"Okay," she said.

"Close your eyes." he said, leaning back against the headboard. Clary did as he instructed, and he looked down at her for a moment. She looked peaceful, he thought. She had once said that his father was strict—and he had been. But that strictness had made him an excellent teacher, and Jace wanted her to know the valuable lesson he had once taught him.

"Once there was a boy," said Jace.

"A Shadowhunter boy?" Clary interrupted. Jace bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Always the questions.

"Of course," he said with dark amusement. But the amusement quickly faded as he was transported back to Idris. Back to his manor. "When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors—killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky.

"The falcon didn't like the boy, and the boy didn't like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn't know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus near impossible to tame. But the boy tried, because his father had told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father.

"He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldn't bring himself to do it—instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. He fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that it's beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen.

"He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that it's slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like light. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he nearly shouted with delight. Sometimes the bird would hop to his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud.

"Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. 'I told you to make it obedient,' his father said, and dropped the falcon's lifeless body to the ground. 'Instead you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. The bird was not tamed; it was broken.'

"Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed."

As his story came to an end, Jace pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees as the images faded. He felt Clary move next to him, and he looked down at her. She was on her back now, staring up at the ceiling.

"That's and _awful _story," she said.

"Is it?" He wondered aloud. Even now, he could still feel the razor sharp sting of the falcon's beak on his hand—feel the gentle nuzzle of it in his hair, and see the trust that he had earned in its eyes. Jace had never thought of it as a bad story, but as one to be learned from. The moment he began to love his falcon, was the moment he had been destined to get it killed. And while his father may have been the one to break its neck, it had been Jace who had destroyed the bird by loving it in the first place.

"The boys father is horrible." she said, looking up at him with a frown. "It's a story about child abuse. I should have known that's what Shadowhunters think a bedtime story is like. Anything that gives you screaming nightmares—"

"Sometimes," Jace said, looking at her thoughtfully. "the Marks can give you screaming nightmares if you get them when you're too young." The outside light that was dimmed by the curtain sent shadows across her, throwing her heart-shaped face into deep contrast. "It's a good story if you think about it. The boy's father is just trying to make him stronger. Inflexible."

"But you have to learn to bend a little," she said stifling a yawn. "Or you'll break."

_I won't_, Jace thought as he looked down at her. _I can't. _"Not if you're strong enough," he said resolutely. And then he couldn't stop himself as he reached to her and brushed the back of is hand lightly across her cheek, her skin as soft as a roses petal; and watched as her eyes slipped shut. As he lowered his hand, she whispered his name. He smiled sadly, but he did not answer her. And he did not reach for her again.

Jace and Alec were waiting in the entry way in fresh Shadowhunter gear with Simon standing a few feet away from them. After he had told Clary the story of his falcon, he had sat in there with her for some time as she slept. He had been unable to drag himself from her bed. But as the light outside faded, he knew he would need to go shower and change. He had thought of what she had said. That he would need to learn to bend a little, but he didn't think he knew how. When Isabelle and the mundane had come back, he let her know where to find Clary. To Jace's irritation, Isabelle suggested that he loan Simon something wear as he would stick out like a sore thumb. He made sure to point out—loudly—that Simon was going to stand out regardless, cause he was a mundane. And an idiot. All the same, he had thrown some black pants at him when he saw him. The mundane opted to turn his black shirt inside out so as to not have to wear one of the shirts though.

Jace leaned against the wall, toying with the dagger in his pocket as he stared at the elevator that had just started moving. A second later Isabelle walked out, looking stunning as usual, but when his eyes slid past her to where Clary stood—he had to lock his jaw to keep his mouth from dropping open. The knee high boots elongated her legs (were those fishnet stockings she was wearing?!) and the short—_really _short—mini-dress shaped her nicely. The light jacket she wore over it brought the ensemble together perfectly, and he could see her small red backpack resting between her shoulder blades. He couldn't even begin to formulate the words for how she looked. Stunning? Gorgeous? They all seemed wrong. Simon, on the other hand seemed to have no problem speaking.

"What _is _that?" He sputtered as he saw her. "That you're wearing I mean."

Clary looked down at herself uncertainly, pulling at the hem of the dress that kissed her thighs. Jace wondered if she would be mad if he slapped the mundane upside the head. Finally she looked back up at Simon. "It's a dress," she said without humor. "I know I don't wear them that much, but really."

"It's so _short._"Simon insisted idiotically, and Jace rolled his eyes. _Eloquently put,_ he thought.

But Clary was looking uncomfortable now, like she was rethinking this whole thing. Jace's hand itched to hit Simon. Biting his cheek, he looked at her and then unhitched himself casually from the wall. "I like the dress." he said, walking towards her. His eyes traveled lazily up from the black knee-high boots to the stockings. He gazed at the dress that hugged her body and up to her face. She seemed to shimmer. Had he ever seen her wear makeup before? Not like this, he hadn't. The black eyeliner accentuated the green in her eyes, and made him think of the green hills of Idris. His breathing was becoming rapid as he looked at the elegant twist of her hair. It looked good, but it wasn't what he preferred. How many times had he wanted to pull her hair over her shoulders? "It needs a little something extra though."

"So now you're a fashion expert?" He could hear the unevenness of her voice as he came to a stop only inches from her. He could smell the lavender coming from her warmly flushed body, and see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He smiled inwardly. He had been starting to think that she was immune to him. Reaching into is jacket, he pulled out the thin dagger that rested in a leather sheath. He didn't think she would catch on, but the hilt was set with a bright red stone shaped like a rose, and he thought of it as giving her a flower.

Looking at it, she shook her head. "I wouldn't even know how to use that—" But he had already taken her small delicate hand in his and was pressing the dagger into it.

"You'd learn," he breathed. And for a moment he became lost in her eyes. Somewhere a quiet voice in the back of his mind tried reminding him of his intentions to distance himself, but he ignored it. "It's in your blood."

"All right." She looked at him, her eyes wide with wonder.

"I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in," Isabelle said from somewhere behind him. "I've got tons." And Jace wondered if seeing a dagger bound to her thigh would completely undo him. He was willing to find out.

"CERTAINLY NOT!"

Jace watched, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as Clary pulled her eyes away from him to glare at Simon. She swung her backpack around and tucked the dagger away into an outside pocket. "Thanks," she said, "but I'm not really a thigh sheath kind of girl."

_Oh, I don't know about that, _Jace thought, looking down at her—at the shining pins that held her hair in place. It looked beautiful but it wasn't her. It wasn't _his_ Clary. "And one more thing," he said, his voice low and his heart racing. Reaching over, he did what he had longed to do from the beginning and pulled the dazzling pins from her hair—his breath hitching as it cascaded like a fiery waterfall down her back and around her shoulders; her curls bouncing lightly. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Much better." He could hear the heavy unevenness of his voice and wondered if she did too. She looked up at him from under her lashes with her eyes that felt like home.

_I am so screwed. _


	10. A Warlocks Party

**A/N: **_Sorry this took so long! I had hoped to get this up before I went on vacation, but I suck and I didn't. Anyway, I really hope you like it! Also I want to take this time to say thank you to all the people who have favorited the story, as well as those who have put it on alert. I want to say thank you to the "Anonymous" who have left reviews. I usually try to reply to everyone who comments, but I can't reply to you if you're anonymous, so just know I appreciate it! As always, let me know what you think! Oh, and if you haven't had a chance yet, please check out my *One-Shot* called Just For Tonight. It's in Jace's POV, from a chapter in CoLS!_

* * *

**~Chapter Ten~**

**A Warlocks Party**

After leaving the Institute, Jace decided to try and redouble his efforts of distancing his feelings from Clary. And he had even been doing okay until they stepped off the Subway and started walking through an industrial style neighborhood. He glanced back at Clary again with growing agitation. For some reason she seemed to be falling further and further behind, and Jace was now having to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure she was still there. He tried to tell himself that it was simply because he didn't want to fall behind himself that he was growing annoyed, but he knew that since the Ravener attack he hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight again. He looked at Isabelle and Simon up ahead with the Sensor, and then at Alec by his side; and then he sighed as he turned to look at Clary again. In all honesty, Jace was surprised that Simon was ahead with Isabelle playing love sick puppy after all the fuss he had made over Clary back at the Institute. He figured it'd have been _her_ leg he was trying to hump—not Izzy's.

_Granted—_if he tried humping Clary's leg, Jace was decidedly sure that he would probably punch the mundane in the face. He was also decidedly sure that while he would _want_ to break his neck, Clary would certainly frown on that. So in the event of possible leg humping, he would have to decidedly stick with face punching. Jace shook his head, wondering why the hell he was thinking this shit.

He turned to check on Clary, and—_for the love of Christ!_

Somehow she had fallen even farther behind. At this rate, they were going to lose the others, who were already a half a block ahead. This time he slowed down so that he could match her steps. "Keep up," he whispered irritably, and Clary looked up at him with raised brows. "I don't want to have to keep looking behind me to make sure nothing's happened to you."

"So don't bother." she grumbled, her eyes darkening as she looked ahead.

"Last time I left you alone, a demon attacked you," Jace said pointedly. Unless she had forgotten, which he doubted.

"Well, I'd certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death," she said with snarky anger, pulling Jace up short as he stared at her. What the hell had _he_ done? It was true she hadn't talked much since leaving the Institute—except to tell Jace 'thank you' after he had caught her when her ankle folded in the high heeled boots she wore. But she hadn't looked at him with anger then.

Jace looked ahead at Isabelle and Simon, bitting the inside of his cheek. "There is a fine line between sarcasm and outright hostility, and you seem to have crossed it." He said, and then looked down at her, his tone softening. "What's up?"

But she didn't answer right away. She stared ahead, her shoulders slumping slightly as she bit her lip. Jace shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from pulling her into him and comforting her. "This morning," she finally said, "weird creepy guys dug around in my brain. Now I'm going to meet the weird creepy guy who originally dug around in my brain." and then she looked up at him. "What if I don't like what he finds?"

That's what this was about? She was nervous? He cast another glance at Simon, grateful that it wasn't about the mundane before answering lightly with a shrug. "What makes you think you won't?"

"I hate when you answer a question with a question," she said irritably, fanning her hair out behind her.

"No you don't, you think it's charming," Jace said immediately with a smile, unable to stop himself. "Anyway, wouldn't you rather know the truth?"

"No," she said immediately. Then she sighed. "I mean, maybe. I don't know." Jace swallowed as she looked at him with those bright trusting Idris eyes. "Would you?" she asked. He met her emerald gaze with his golden one. She wanted to know what he thought—trusted his judgement. And because she was scared—scared of knowing the truth. Jace had to ball his hands now, hoping that that would anchor them in his pockets as he thought about her question. Would he want to know? The answer came immediately without hesitation.

"This is the right street!" Isabelle suddenly called, and Jace removed his hand to wave, letting her know that he heard her, his eyes sweeping the scenery as they always did, before looking back down at Clary. But she wasn't looking at him anymore. She looked around the neighborhood with curiosity. As she turned her head lightly, looking up the road, Jace noticed a strand of curls sticking to her shoulder.

_Don't do it. Seriously man. Don't. _Reaching forward, Jace brushed his fingers lightly across her shoulder, sweeping the hair back. _Dumb ass. _And yet, he didn't remove his hand, her skin hot under his. "Absolutely. Always," he whispered answering her question. She really was beautiful.

"What?" She asked confused, looking at him.

She did that sometimes, he realized. Disappeared in that confusing head of hers, forgetting or not realizing that others are right there with her. He found it both frustrating and endearing. "The truth," he said, his fingers lightly tracing the freckles on her skin. "I would—"

"Jace!" Alec called suddenly and Jace took a breath at his _parabatai's_ uncanny timing. He dropped his hand as he turned to face his him_._

"Yes?"

Think we're in the right place?" He asked, pointing just behind a black car. If Jace had thought that Alec was merely asking for directions, he would have given him a colorful answer. But he could hear the excitement in Alec's voice. And when Alec was excited, it usually meant something.

"What's that? he asked rounding the car to see just what it was that Alec was looking at. And then he laughed. He couldn't help it. Rows of motorcycles were lining the street a the curb, but the weren't _just _motorcycles. They were vampire motorcycles. And they were just all right there unprotected. It would be a shame—a tragedy really—if some gloriously self-righteous handsome hooligan were to vandalize them. Movement in his peripheral caught his attention and he saw Clary slide up gracefully next to him. She was looking a the bikes confused. "Vampires," he said in way of explanation.

""They look like motorcycles to me." Simon said coming up behind them with Isabelle.

_And you look like a rat in glasses. You're also a— _

It would be Isabelle that answered him. "They are," she said, frowning at the bikes, "but they've been altered to run on demon energies. Vampires use them—it lets them get around fast at night. It's not strictly covenant, but. . ."

Jace looked back at the warehouse they sat in front of, before hopping off the curb. He pulled a small corked bottle from his inside jacket, and he walked to the closest bike as Alec started talking excitedly. He couldn't fault his brother's excitement—they were something pretty amazing. Very pretty actually, in their own way. Jace had never seen one before now. Alec, on the other hand, had been obsessed with these things since he first learned about them from Hodge during lessons. He had spent hours learning about them afterwards. Jace looked down at the sleek silver machine that almost nearly seemed to be humming. Had he just heard Alec say they could fly? With his thumb, he popped the cork off easily and hid it under his palm as he reached forward and grazed a hand along the cool metal of the chassis, pouring the holy water as he went. _Nox Invictus _wasprinted on the side. Yes it was, Jace thought with amusement. He looked up and saw Clary watching him.

"Victorious night," he translated out loud. And then he realized that Alec was watching him as well, his eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing?" He asked suspicously.

Jace quickly slid his hand back in his pocket, hiding the now empty bottle. "Nothing," he said lightly, with a shrug and a small smile playing on his lips. He knew Alec had seen more than he was letting on, but he merely shook his head as Jace listened to the low almost inaudible sound of hissing coming from the bike now.

"Well, hurry up," said Isabelle impatiently. "I didn't get this dressed up to watch you mess around in the gutter with a bunch of motorcycles."

"They're pretty to look at." Jace said with a wink as he rejoined them on the sidewalk. "You have to admit that."

"So am I" she said curtly. Jace, knowing that that was the closest she would come to admitting anything, suppressed a laugh. "Now, hurry up."

But Jace was looking at Clary, who watched him questioningly. For not having been raised a Shadowhunter, she sure was suspicious like one. He wondered if he had seen anything of what he had done, but probably not. His Slight of Hand rune would make it difficult for anyone who wasn't a trained Shadowhunter to have noticed. "This building," he pointed at the red brick warehouse that loomed over them and the bikes. ""Is this the one?"

Clary looked at the building as if surprised that he would guess that it was that one. But with all the vampire bikes, it made sense didn't it? "I think so," she exhaled looking down the row of buildings. "They all look the same."

That was true, Jace thought. Except, again, this was the only one that had scores of Vampire bikes and other vehicles parked out front of it, so . . .

"One way to find out," Isabelle said as she turned on her heels and mounted the steps. With a shrug, Jace and the rest of them followed her.

Jace wrinkled his nose as an offensive odor assaulted him. One would think that when one was the High Warlock of Brooklyn, they would live somewhere that did not smell like piss. Or at least use their magic to rid the piss smell from where they lived. Jace saw the name near the buzzer, _Bane_, and new instantly that they had the right place. Isabelly pressed the buzzer a first time, a second, and she was about to press it again when Alec's hand shot out stopping her.

"Don't be rude." He said, holding her wrist, and Isabelle glared daggers at him. And then, what Jace was sure would have been a colorful reply from Isabelle was, stopped short as the door flew open. While everyone around him seemed to be caught off guard by the slender and man in the entryway, he merely cocked an eyebrow. The guy seemed, by mundane standards, about their age. His skin glittered with . . . _Oh_ _that's actually glitter, _Jace realized.

"Magnus? Magnus Bane?" Isabelle asked, recovering herself and flashing a smile.

"That would be me." The warlock replied, his blue painted lips frowning. Jace looked at him. He had seen warlocks before, and while they were all a little odd—immortality could do that to someone—he had never seen one who looked quite like Magnus. He wondered mutely where his Mark was. And then Magnus looked at him (_Ah. There it is, _Jace thought.),his cat like eyes seeming to linger just longer than when they had looked at everyone else. He was lucky that he had escaped with something as simple as vertical slit pupils as his Mark, though. Jace had seen some warlocks with beaks, and others with talons for hands. His father had had even told him of one who was all green. The warlock was still looking at him. It were almost as if he recognized Jace. But that couldn't be possible. He was sure of it. He'd remember this guy. Magnus barely looked at Clary. Running a ring covered hand through his black spiky locks, he looked back at Isabelle. "Children of the Nephilim," he mused. "Well, well. I don't recall inviting you."

But Isabelle was already one step ahead of him, removing the invitation from her purse and waving it at him. "I have an invitation," she smiled. "These—" she pointed at her companions, "—are my friends."

Magnus snatched the blue parchment out of Isabelle's hand and stared at it intently. Jace took his stele out of his pocket and started rolling it in along his knuckles just as Magnus shook his head. "I must have been drunk," he said as he opened the door wide for them. "Come in." Then his eyes fell on Jace. "And try not to murder any of my guests."

Jace, who couldn't help himself when such an opportunity presented itself, stopped in the doorway, hiding his stele as he went, and looked at Magnus with amusement. "Even if one of them spills a drink on my new shoes?" He asked, as if death would be the most logical course of action for such a heinous act. Magnus wasn't inclined to agree.

"Not even then," he said. And then before Jace knew what had happened, Magnus' hand had shot toward him, relieving him of his stele and holding it up to him. "As for this," he said to Jace's chagrin. "Keep it in your pants, Shadowhunter." And his eyes widened as Magnus pulled him closer by the hem of his jeans, his fingers cool agains Jace's skin, and slid the stele into his pants pocket.

Before Jace could collect himself, Magnus grinned with satisfaction and headed up the stairs. _What the hell just happened?_ Jace thought with bewilderment as he watched the warlock go. Shaking his head, he looked back at the rest of his group—they looked just as dumbfounded as he felt— and waved them in. "Come on," he said, holding the door open. "Before anyone thinks it's _my _party."

As they pushed past him, Isabelle stopped and looked at him. "Try not to piss him off, please." she sighed. "Then he wont help us."

Jace rolled his eyes, taking on a bored air. "I know what I'm doing." He couldn't let them know just how much Magnus had took him by surprise. It had been like Clary walking into the utility room of Pandemonium all over again.

"I hope so." She stated without a hint of amusement, before walking past him in what he could only describe as a 'huff'.

Jace watched as one by one they began disappearing up the stairs. Clary caught his eye briefly, and he smiled reassuringly up at her. He was biting his cheek, thinking, as he didn't move from the ground flopr. He hadn't liked the way Magnus had looked at him—as if he had recognized him, but he really didn't like that he had been able to take his stele out of his hand, before he had had time to react. Because of that, Jace was feeling mutinous.

"You coming?" Alec asked, reappearing on the steps and looking down at him.

"Of course." Jace said, looking up at him, though he didn't move. Alec smiled came back down to meet him.

"What's up?"

Jace shook his head, not sure how to answer. "I hate vampires," he said. He didn't really want to go into how the warlock had rattled him.

"Is that why you poured holy water on that bike out there?" Alec asked knowingly. Jace wasn't surprised that Alec had seen what he had done though, he would have been more shocked if he hadn't.

All the same, "I don't know what your talking about," he said in a tone of mock offense and superiority. "Why would one such as myself take the time. . ."

But Alec wasn't listening. Instead, he pulled out three more corked vials of holy water. "While you stand there and pretend to be offended, I think I'm going make sure that at least a few more leeches have trouble getting home tonight."

"A man after my own heart." Jace grinned, opening the door back up. Alec always seemed to know how to cheer him up.

As Jace entered the apartment, still flushed from the excitement of having ruined the motorcycles, he saw that the party was in full swing. While there were other types of Downworlders here, vampires were the majority and Jace immediately looked around for Clary. He didn't think that He didn't think that he and Alec had taken that long, but he didn't like the idea of leaving her alone as it was. Next to him, Alec muttered about large number of Vampires just as a faerie came dancing up to him. Alec stiffened immediately, looking as if her were going to punch the tiny girl, and Jace stepped back, stifling a laugh as she threw a glowing ley around his neck. To make it even funnier, she kissed him on the cheek before dancing away, leaving Alec's eyes wide with shock.

"Didn't know you had a thing for them faerie chicks," Jace whispered in his ear. "Bet you could nail her if you wanted." And then he laughed as Alec looked at him murderously. He knew it had been a crude statement, but as Alec refused to reveal his true orientation, Jace would simply have to try and prod it out of him. Instead, Alec grumbled about having standards and taking the flower necklace off. He had been about to chuck it on the ground when Jace's hand shot out and caught it.

"Refusing a flower from a girl, Alec?" He chided playfully as he put it around his own neck. "Now thats just rude."

"A Downworlder," Alec corrected.

"Enough!" Jace grinned, holding out a hand to stop him. "It looks better on me anyway. But then—everything does. Perhaps she would look better on me too." He confided with a wink. Alec rolled his eyes, looking irritated. Up ahead, Jace saw a flash of curly red hair that had become familiar to him, and he nudged Alec to follow. As they made their way to Clary, Jace overheard a couple vampires talking about leaving and he smiled, hoping that one of them might be an owner to one of the bikes they had desecrated.

As Jace came to a stop next to Clary, he saw that Magnus was with her but that Simon and Isabelle were nowhere to be found. He looked around quickly locating them dancing provocatively together—well, Isabelle was dancing provocatively. Simon looked as ridiculous has he had at Pandemonium. Either way, Jace wished he hadn't left Clary alone now. When he looked down at her, he saw her watching him carefully. Magnus was looking at Alec.

"Where are Simon and Isabelle?" she asked.

"On the dance floor," he said pointing, and then he frowned as Clary hugged her arms around herself as she watched them. He knew that the jacket she had thrown over herself was light, but it wasn't cold. He looked back up at Isabelle and the mundane. _She's upset,_ Jace realized. She didn't like the idea of Simon dancing with Isabelle. _I could offer to dance with her_, he thought. He was a far superior dancer than the mundane. But would she take him up on the offer? Perhaps she was only used to dancing with the mediocre. He hated that she was so upset though. A chuckle so soft that he almost missed it, caught Jace's attention and he looked up to find the warlock watching him with amusement. _What the hell was his deal? _Jace shook his head as Magnus' grin widened.

"Look," Jace said suddenly. "We really need to talk to—"

"MAGNUS BANE!" Alec and Clary visibly jumped and turned toward the deep booming voice, while Jace and Magnus merely looked up at the short vampire dwarf with a shaved head. "_Someone _just poured holy water into the gas tank on my bike." He said stoping in front of the warlock, who Jace noticed didn't bat an eye. In face, he looked bored. "It's ruined," the vampire continued. "Destroyed. Al the pipes are melted." At this, Alec looked like he was about to start laughing. Jace wouldn't be surprised—it had been Alec's idea to pour the water into the gas tanks, and now it seemed to have done more than even they had originally thought it would. Still, laughing would give them away, and he thought about kicking Alec to shut him up.

"Melted?" Magnus breathed, his brows going up in what looked like a halfhearted attempt at surprise. "How dreadful," he said. Though, he didn't really look like he thought it was dreadful at all.

"I want to know who did it," the vampire boomed, baring his canines. Jace went on instant alert and took a step forward in front of Clary who—_seriously?—_was staring at the man with fascination. Jace shook his head as the vampire midget continued. "I thought you swore there would be no wolf-men here tonight, _Bane._"

Magnus, who looked utterly unimpressed by the vampire, examined his nails. "I invited none of the Moon's Children." he said patiently. "Precisely because of your stupid little feud. If any of them decided to sabotage your bike, they weren't a guest of mine, and are therefor—" Magnus looked up now, an engaging smile on his lips. "Not my responsibility."

The midget vampire didn't seem to take too kindly to that, however, and Jace marly laughed as he roared with munchkin anger. "Are you trying to tell me that—" and then he was clutching at his throat as he started gagging on his words.

Jace looked at Magnus curiously. He stood there with his arms crossed, the bored look still on his face, but there was a new air around him. Electric almost. "You've worn out your welcome." he said, his yellow cat eyes wide. "Now go." Jace looked back at the oompa loompa vampire just as he spun against his will and headed toward the door. _Okay, that was kind of cool,_ Jace thought.

He whistled under his breath. "That was impressive."

"You mean that little hissy fit?" Magnus asked, his eyes shooting toward the ceiling. "I know. What _is _her problem?"

Alec chortled, his body shaking. "We put the holy water in his gas tank, you know."

_What the—_ "ALEC," Jace glared at him. Did he not know that now was not the time to be admitting to such things? He really _was_ ready to kick him now. Right in the ankle. "Shut up." But Magnus seemed neither upset or surprised.

"I assumed that," he said, his lips curving upward into an amused grin. He was looking at Alec with a sort of appreciation now. "Vindictive little bastards, aren't you? You know their bikes run on demon energies. I doubt he'll be able to repair it."

Now that he was just that Magnus wasn't going to kick them all out for causing a rift, Jace merely shrugged. "One less leech with a fancy ride," he said. "My heart bleeds."

"I heard some of them can make their bikes fly," Alec chimed in excitedly, but he was looking at Magnus pointedly as if hoping he would either confirm or deny this.

"Merely an old witches' tale," Magnus smiled, but Jace saw the glitter in his eyes. Or maybe that was just the glitter around his eyes. There was a lot of glitter. Magnus turned to look at Jace. "So is that why you wanted to crash my party?Just to wreck some bloodsucker bikes?"

Jace bit his cheek, looking at Clary. She hadn't said much since having seen Isabelle dancing with Simon. He looked back at Magnus, his tone serious. "No. We need to talk to you. Preferably somewhere private."

Magnus regarded him silently for a moment, his brow cocking. "Am I in trouble with the Clave?"

"No." Jace said immediately, hoping that the truth would be more persuasive.

"Probably not," Alec amended. Jace kicked him in the ankle. "Ow!" he cried out, giving Jace a "_what the fuck" _look. Jace glared back. First he nearly gave them away, then he did give them away, now he was trying to threaten the warlock?_ Knock it off!_ Jace seriously hoped Alec got all that with the look he was giving him.

"No," Jace said again, looking back at Magnus who seemed to be suppressing a laugh. "We can talk to you under the seal of the Covenant. If you help us, anything you say will be confidential."

Magnus' smile faded. "And if I don't help you?"

Jace spread his arms and shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Maybe a visit from the Silent City"

"That's quite a choice you're offering me, little Shadowhunter." Though Magnus smiled, his voice was like ice. All the same, Jace got the strange sense that the warlock would have expected nothing less of him.

"It's no choice at all." Jace said.

"Yes," said Magnus. "Thats exactly what I meant."

Magnus lead them down a hall and through a door. Jace blinked at the brightly colored room. Given the abundance of color, he couldn't say nothing matched at least. It was like a rainbow had vomited in there. But all the same, Jace could tell that everything was high end. He walked to the window, pulling aside the heavy multicolored curtain and looking down on the road. He had a good view of the motorcycles from here. Or at least the one's he and Alec hadn't ruined.

"Nice place," Jace said. "Guess it pays well, being the High Warlock of Brooklyn?"

"It pays," Magnus said, and Jace turned to look at him. "Not much of a benefit package, though. No dental." He shut the door, and then leaning against it, his cat eyes met Jace's as he crossed his arms. "So . . . what's on your devious little minds?"

"It's not them, actually," Clary said suddenly. Jace met her eyes briefly, before she looked back to Magnus. She wasn't standing far from Jace, as if she had thought of following him to the window before changing her mind. "I'm the one who wanted to talk to you."

Magnus looked at Clary now, and Jace thought that it very much looked like he was trying to decide on something. "You are not one of them," he said, his cat eyes withholding emotion. "Not of the Clave. But you can see the Invisible World."

"My mother was one of the Clave," Clary said quickly. Magnus swallowed then, and Jace leaned in closer. "But she never told me." she continued. "She kept it a secret. I don't know why."

"So ask her."

Jace glared at Magnus. He knew who she was. Jace knew this. So why the games? But before he could answer, Clary spoke up again. "I can't. She's. . ." and Jace saw her wince as she tried to find the words she wanted to use. "She's gone." Clary breathed.

"And your father?" Magnus asked without blinking an eye.

"He died before I was born."

Jace turned to look at Magnus as he sighed irritably, looking up at the ceiling. "As Oscar Wilde once said, 'To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both seems like carelessness.'"

Jace took a sharp breath. _Watch it warlock,_ he thought angrily. He, too, had lost both parents, but in his case they were both dead so Magnus' words hit close to home for him. In fact—

"I didn't lose my mother." Clary said, cutting off Jace before he could speak. He saw her throw a glance his way as well, and he bit the inside of his cheek. "She was taken from me." Clary continued. "By Valentine."

"I don't know any Valentine." Magnus said airily, but Jace had the urge to scream _'Bullshit!'_ at him. He could tell he was lying. Tell that he knew Clary, knew Valentine, and might even know the real reason that they were here. But before he could say all that , Magnus was already speaking. "I'm sorry for your tragic circumstances, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with me. If you could tell me—"

"She can't tell you, because she doesn't remember," Jace cut him off, having grown tired of the game Magnus was playing. His body was tense as he stared at the warlock, his golden eyes unwavering. "Someone erased her memories. So we went to the Silent City to see what the Brothers could pull out of her head." And now Jace saw a spark in the Warlocks eyes. If he didn't know before—which Jace highly doubted—he knew now. "They got two words." he continued. "I think you can guess what they were."

Everyone stared at Magnus now, as the warlock looked back unamused. The smile playing on his lips was acidic. "My signature," the warlock finally admitted. "I knew it was folly when I did it. An act of hubris . . ."

"You _signed_ my mind?" Clary said in shock, staring angrily at Magnus. Though she had her back to him, Jace knew that she was piercing Magnus with those emerald fires of hers. Magnus seemed unfazed though. Lifting a finger, he traced the outlines of his name, leaving a fiery trail of his signature. Lowering his hand, he examined the glowing words that continued to hand there. Jace wondered if that was how it looked when Clary had seen it under the influence of the Silent Brothers.

"I was proud of my work on you." Magnus said, looking intently at Clary. " So clean. So perfect." Jace shuddered at the way the warlock spoke the words. Caressing them almost. "What you saw you would forget, even as you saw it. No image of pixie or goblin or long legged beastie would remain to trouble your blameless mortal sleep. It was the way she wanted it."

Clary's voice was on edge as she stared at Magnus. "The way who wanted it?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek as Magnus sighed. He looked at her, and he knew that she was already aware of the answer to her question. He could see it in her eyes when she looked back at him. This was something she just had to hear spoken, Jace realized. All the same though. He could see the rigidness in her body and the slight stumble forward she took as Magnus finally spoke the words she wanted to hear.

"You're mother."

Jace made himself readied himself to catch her, in case she needed him to.


End file.
